


How to deal with difficult questions.

by QueenOfTacky



Series: Silky strands [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Auror Harry Potter, Blow Jobs, Bottom Harry, Bottom Harry Potter, Criminal Cases, Cruciatus Curse (Harry Potter), Dark Draco Malfoy, Detective Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy Has Issues, Draco Malfoy Needs a Hug, Drinking, Drugs, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Flashbacks, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Idiots in Love, Like really slow, M/M, Murder (mentioned), Mutual Pining, Past Abuse, Post-War, References to Sex Work, Self-Harm, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Smoking, Suicidal Thoughts, Top Draco Malfoy, Window Sex, house arrest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:07:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 44,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24367792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfTacky/pseuds/QueenOfTacky
Summary: How exactly did Draco Malfoy end up as a suspect in an Auror Office's case after a year of being presumed dead? Well, you'd have to ask Ron Weasley about it - after all, his intuition is supposedly never wrong. But it'sclearlynot his fault that the only way to place a homeless person, with a propensity for vanishing, under house arrest, is to find them a place to live. And it was Shacklebolt who came up with the idea that Harry Potter will have to look after said person, so you really cannot blame Ron for this one. Anyway, whatever happened in that apartment, Ron had nothing to do with it - he didn't trust Malfoy from the start, so the fact that Harry was (once again) not speaking to him, because he "ruined his life" was definitely an overreaction.[AKA: What happens when you force the Chosen One to stay on home office looking after his clearly mentally unstable arch enemy and how do you even deal with being asked questions you really don't know the answears to.]**Note: I'm taking a hiatus from this story for some time (don't know how long though) - don't worry, I WILL come back to it!**
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Series: Silky strands [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1759375
Comments: 18
Kudos: 70





	1. Do Aurors make good nannies?

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to my oneshot 'A Strand of Silk' - I strongly recommend reading that one first, because there will be references to non-canon (duh!) past events.
> 
> Side-note: Not all of this is written from Ron's perspective, although I will come back to it later on.

Malfoy has been dead for over a year now and – regardless of the efforts both Ron and Hermione put into yanking Harry out of a trance-like state he’s been in ever since reading the letter from Draco – Harry was still absent-minded most days, like the mourning he’s been going through coated him with a thick, greasy layer of tar, rendering him completely separated from the outside world and irresponsive to anything around him. In fact, the biggest display of still being alive they’ve got from him came on the anniversary of Malfoy’s death (or what Ron considered as such, since they didn’t really have any sort of indication when it exactly happened), when all three of them were sitting in the kitchen of Ron and Hermione’s house on the outskirts of Oxford.

‘Harry, you really need to try and go back to normal.’ Hermione was (yet again) trying to convince Harry to go see a therapist.

‘Sure, of course, I’ll go see some mediocre shrink and tell him that I’ve made a guy I hated, who has been missing for months, kill himself by the virtue of my very own existence!’ Harry snapped. Ron didn’t exactly understand his best friend – if all Harry did was stumble upon Malfoy somewhere in Muggle London, why would it be his fault that Malfoy decided to off himself? There must have been something else, something more, but they went over this dozens of times by now, and Harry insisted that they only talked briefly. At some point Ron came to a conclusion that Malfoy just must have been ashamed of being seen by someone from the Wizarding community and couldn’t live with it, but it didn’t make sense why Harry would blame himself.

‘Mate, you know it’s not your fault. Maybe if we can’t convince you, someone with an outside perspective will?’ Ron tried to support Hermione, but it was half-hearted.

‘Exactly!’ Hermione smiled ‘You’re blaming yourself for something you had no part in and you can’t seem to understand it’s misplaced!’

‘No!’ Harry stood up, shouting ‘YOU don’t understand! I’ve caused this! Were any of you there with me? No? Then stop acting like idiots and listen to the person that ACTUALLY knows what happened, ok? This is my fault and your stupid, incessant faith that it’s all only Draco’s fault, is not helping! You know what? If you’re going to be like this, just better leave me alone!’ He stormed off. They could only hear the front door shutting behind him as Ron was staring ahead in stunned silence and Hermione was sobbing into her hands.

***

And so, following his best friend’s request to be left alone, a month later Ron was by himself on an assignment somewhere in the middle of nothing in northern Scotland. He was tracking a particularly tricky band of snatchers that seemed to specialize in convincing elderly wizards that they needed their (obviously paid) protection because Death Eaters were on the rise again – ridiculous idea, Ron concluded, given that most of them were either in Azkaban or dead, but nevertheless it was a matter to be dealt with, and since it proved to be too difficult for the ordinary magical police force, the task fell to the Auror Office, no matter how much beneath his skillset and job description Ron found it.

He has already spent three days trying to locate victims of this rather heinous scam to interview them – so far, to no avail. He was almost ready to give up when he spotted an elderly woman in maroon robes walking along the only road in a small village Ron was planning to apparate back to London from. He sighed and decided to make one last effort – he didn’t really want to go back to his desk, not with Harry just beside him, sulking and not talking to him.

‘Excuse me, miss, have you perhaps heard about the Auror Office?’ It was his standard opening line designed to identify witches and wizards.

‘Indeed, I have, young man. But why do you ask?’ She smiled politely at him.

‘I’m one of the Aurors there and I’d like to talk to you about something if you have some time.’

‘An Auror, here? It must be serious! Come follow me, I’ll make you a cup of tea and we’ll talk, you look half-frozen, dear!’ When they reached the house, Ron sat down in an armchair and looked intently at the woman. He cleared his throat and spoke.

‘Miss, we have received several pieces of information about a group of people travelling all over the country, promising protection against Death Eaters in exchange for a rather large sum of money. Have you been approached by them?’ He didn’t really have much faith by now, but there was no harm in trying.

‘Oh, yes, indeed I have! Three rather charming young boys came by last Friday. They told me You-Know-Who’s followers were rallying again and they were naturally up to no good, so they’ve taken it upon themselves to help out the elderly, since the Ministry is so far away from here.’ She told Ron excitedly. ‘But they demanded a little too much money for my taste so I declined. After all, I’m old anyway, I might die any moment now, so what use would it be to me?’

‘Miss, I’m sorry to inform you, but those young boys were most likely swindlers.’ Ron was rather shocked at the revelation. ‘You see, Death Eaters have all been locked up and with Voldemort gone, there isn’t exactly anyone there to get them started again.’

‘Oh, but you must be mistaken my dear! They were certainly sure they’ve seen one of the You-Know-Who’s former allies camped out in the next village over! They said he has a Dark Mark! And after what they’ve told me, I’m sure I’ve seen this particular young man several times around here – you know, when I was picking up herbs in the fields – he most certainly lives somewhere close!’

‘I assure you, madame, that the Ministry has rounded up all the former Death Eaters and sent them to Azkaban. Or, at least all those who would still be alive today.’ Ron stated firmly, but there was an idea suddenly forming in his mind. ‘But I will go look for that mysterious stranger and confirm myself, you have my word for it. After all, it’s better to be safe than sorry, don’t you think? If our information was not correct and those young boys were in fact only trying to protect our community from any harm, it’s all the better for me to go and get that Death Eater locked up.’ He smiled, hoping the elderly witch would take his bait. He realized that if the snatchers were using someone as a stand-in for a Death Eater, it would most likely be a member of their group – and that seemed like his best bet to catch them.

‘I must say, you are a very brave man, Mr…’ She looked at him expectedly.

‘Longbottom.’ Ron never used his real name during operations – it was routine for all Aurors to use aliases, but Ron was tired of making up names. ‘And thank you, you’re very kind. But I need your help, madame, if I am to succeed. I need all the information you can give me on this bloke you’ve been seeing that they say used to be a Death Eater.’

‘Certainly, dear! I see him very often in the field by the forest – if you follow the same road we met on you’ll find the correct one, it’s around a mile from here. If you want to catch him, you best camp out there around midnight – sometimes he comes out then and sometimes I notice him at dawn, so you might to spend the night there. He’s tall, very thin, like he’s hardly eating anything, and pale – very, very pale. Oh, and he has blonde hair, almost white, but a little more silverish. Really, he would be quite handsome if he didn’t look like he was halfway to death…’ She continued on, but Ron’s mind was spinning. No, it wasn’t possible, Malfoy was dead. And even if he wasn’t, what would he be doing in some God forsaken end-of-the-world village in Scotland that seemed to have been forgotten by the whole world?

***

That night Ron cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself and set out to wait in the field the woman described in the middle of the night. He was still not convinced his plan was entirely sane and would actually bring any results – for all he knew, he was planning to ambush some poor Muggle that had no idea what Death Eaters were. Because surely, his initial inkling that he has somehow, miraculously, came across Draco Malfoy magically resurrected after over a year, was completely asinine. And yet, he couldn’t get this idea out of his head. He didn’t know if it was the Auror ambition of cracking every case, or if it was for Harry’s sake, but he just needed to find out who the stranger was.

He camped out in the field for hours, but it was all for nothing. Nobody came and just as the sun was rising over the horizon, Ron decided to get up from the boulder he’s been occupying for the last six hours and head back. He stood up, wincing for his poor arse that went completely numb by this point, frozen to the rock, and stretched. He would have to come back some other time.

I was only two nights later when Ron spotted a tall, slender figure at the edge of the field. The woman was right – whoever this was, they certainly looked like they were alarmingly malnourished and sick. Observing the person, Ron determined that there was next to impossible for it to be Malfoy – there was no way he would look this bad, not even after almost two years in exile. Malfoy was a wizard, after all, and a pretty good one at that, no matter how much Ron didn’t like to admit it, so with his skillset he would surely figure out a way to at least obtain some food in survivable quantities. No, this person looked like they’ve been living off of the bare minimum and it showed – their skin had a nasty, ashy-green tinge and their chest and stomach (starkly visible in the moonlight, because the person was wearing only torn-up Muggle jeans that were clearly several sizes too big) were so wasted Ron could practically see the heartbeat through. When the person turned around and faced Ron (still invisible under his Disillusionment Charm) his (Ron has determined that the person was a male) face was sunken in, like the skin was stretched over the bode directly, without any muscles or fat in between. His eyes appeared bigger than they should, with heavy, dark bags underneath that looked almost black in contrast to the impossibly pale complexion. The only indication that the person was a living human being and not an Inferius were the lips – still full and red, slightly parted as he muttered something unintelligible under his breath, picking some herbs, arms elbow-deep in the tall grass.

Ron wasn’t sure if his conclusion that he didn’t, in fact, stumble onto Malfoy’s path, made him relieved or worried – there was some hope in him that maybe if it in fact was Draco, there would be a chance for Harry to snap out of his mourning. But that wasn’t possible – the longer Ron looked at the person, the more he was sure that if he saw his left forearm (still invisible to him, buried in the tall weeds) there would be no Dark Mark there.

It took some time for the person to be done with whatever it was he was doing, so Ron waited patiently on his scour post on the boulder. He decided that confronting whoever this was right there in the middle of the field was a bad idea and it would be much safer to just follow him home and talk then. He was wary of the possibility that there might be the rest of the snatchers there, but he was certain that he would be able to defend himself if that was the case, and accidentally attracting Muggle’s attention with a confrontation out in the open wasn’t worth the risk. So he sat there, almost until sunrise, not letting himself look away from the figure in the field. Finally, when the bottom of Ron’s robes was completely soaked through by morning dew, the person collected his herbs and turned around, seemingly heading to wherever it was he was living.

Ron stood up and followed the figure from a more-than-safe distance. He arrived at a small hut at the very edge of the forest a couple of minutes after the person already closed the door behind him – he knew this must be the correct place, even though he didn’t clearly see the figure disappearing inside, because some of the fresh herbs from the field were lying on the windowsill next to the door. He braced himself, lifted his Disillusionment Charm and knocked. There was no answer. He stood there for a minute, intently listening for any sounds of conversation, before knocking again. This time he heard something that resembled a moan or a groan, although he couldn’t determine if the cause of that was pleasure or pain. He decided to open the door and check.

The person was lying on a bed, stretched out on his back, left arm folded underneath his head, holding something that looked like a hand-rolled cigarette in his right hand. In the dimmed candlelight inside, he looked even more sick and wasted than before. Ron stood rooted to the spot, not believing his own eyes.

‘Oh, hello, Weasley. Looking for someone?’ The man said politely, clearly not fazed by Ron suddenly appearing in his doorway. Ron was starting to suspect that the thing the man was smoking must not be a cigarette.

‘Ma… Malfoy?!’ He managed after a while. It turned out that there was in fact a Dark Mark on the man’s arm, fully on display now.

‘In the flesh.’ Malfoy grinned.

‘But… But how? You’re dead! You… you killed yourself a year ago!’

‘What gave you that idea? My letter to Potter?’ Malfoy raised his eyebrows. ‘I barely said I’m going, I never said anything about committing a suicide. So I went. Here. Which brings me back to my initial question: looking for someone?’

‘Actually, you.’ Ron shook his head. ‘Well, not _you_ as in _Draco Malfoy_ , but a person that has been described to me by a witness in a case I’m working. And that happens to be you.’

‘What about me interests the Auror Office now?’ Malfoy was still completely unbothered by the sudden reunion as he took a hit from his clearly-not-cigarette and groaned with pleasure. ‘As you can see, I’m not bothering anyone.’

‘Well, you’ve been sort of…’ Ron hesitated ‘used by a band of snatchers running a scam, trying to convince elderly wizards that Death Eaters were on the rise again and that they, those snatchers, would provide protection against them. And they’ve been pointing you out to people as evidence.’

‘I see. And you came here to check if I’m a part of that.’

‘More or less…’ Ron coughed as another cloud of smoke from whatever Malfoy was indulging in filled the room. ‘What are you smoking anyway?’

‘Herbs. That’s all you need to know. And to answer your inquiry, I don’t know who these people are, I don’t work with them.’

‘Are you stoned right now?’

‘Possibly. Shut the door behind you on your way out.’ Malfoy seemed thoroughly bored with the conversation.

‘No, you’re coming with me back to London.’ Ron was determined to get this whole ordeal resolved.

‘Am not.’

‘You are. You’re in no state to be taken seriously and besides, you’re a suspected member of a scheme-running group, so you’ll need to testify.’

‘Whatever. I have nothing to say to you or your Auror friends, I have done nothing wrong and I don’t know the people you’re after, so I’m no help at all.’

‘Oh, I think you have a lot to say to my _Auror friends_ , Malfoy…’ Ron was getting irritated. Stoned Malfoy was even more infuriating than sober Malfoy.

‘You mean Potter? That whole thing a year ago was his fault. Although I suppose he sold you a completely fabricated story…’

‘Actually, he hasn’t told anybody anything. Just that he has ran into you and you were in a very dark place. He wanted to help you get back on your feet, you know?!’

‘Oh, so he actually didn’t tell you anything…’ Malfoy seemed surprised, although it was very subdued. ‘Anyway, as thankful as I am for this generous gesture, I’m completely fine where I am, so I think I’ll stay.’

‘Yeah, and your state right now is certainly _fine,_ judging by how you look…’

‘That’s not your concern. I feel fine. Now, please, leave me alone.’

‘I told you, you’re coming with me. We need your testimony.’

‘And I told you I’m not coming.’ Malfoy tried to reach for his wand, but he wasn’t quick enough. Ron jumped forward, grabbed his wrist and apparated them both straight into the office he shared with Harry.

***

Harry was sitting in his office, burying himself in paperwork, when a small ‘pop’ of apparition, followed by a string of curse words, shot him upright. Ron has appeared in the middle of the room, his hand firmly holding the wrist of some unknown man. The man was trying to get out of Ron’s grip muttering derogatory terms under his breath. The whole scene looked rather surreal – in Harry’s experience, if someone didn’t want to be taken along by apparition, they would usually try and hex the person kidnapping them immediately upon landing, but this particular man looked more subdued – his movements were slow, like there was a thick layer of invisible jelly surrounding him, and even his constant verbal attack towards Ron seemed strangely calm, like he knew that was what he was supposed to be doing but wasn’t really in the mood for it. Ron had no trouble forcing the man into a chair at Harry’s desk. As soon as he was forced to sit, the man calmed down, like even pretending to try and run away drained him, and looked at him with a confusingly amused expression. Just as their eyes locked, Harry’s blood turned to ice.

‘Well, hello, Potter. I heard you thought I’ve offed myself after our little encounter last year, so here I am.’

‘Malfoy…? But… But how?’ Harry was really scrambling for anything coherent to blurt out. For a whole year he has been battling guilt and mourning over Malfoy’s death, blaming himself for what he thought happened and yet, here he was, defiant as ever (although Harry suspected, by the faint smell of some unknown smoke that filled the room as soon as he and Ron arrived, majorly drunk or stoned) and clearly bemused by Harry’s expression. Harry was rapidly growing furious with him – he must have known what his letter would do and now he was showing his face in Harry’s own office like nothing ever happened!

‘I found him in Scotland.’ Ron explained ‘You know, the swindle case? I have a feeling he might be a part of that.’

‘I told you, Wesley, I know nothing about this.’ Malfoy was getting a little angry – to Harry it seemed like whatever he must have taken was slowly leaving his bloodstream.

‘And he’s been there all this time?’ Harry asked Ron, ignoring Malfoy’s presence in the room.

‘So he says. I’ll need to question him formally, but as you can see, he’s denying everything. And if we just let him go, he’ll just fall of the grid again.’ Ron looked worried.

‘So what are you planning to do? You haven’t found the rest of the band yet, I suppose?’

‘No, not yet. I’m getting closer though. But I don’t know what to do with this tosser. We can’t just set him free before I find the rest…’

‘I suppose. I’ve been looking at the paperwork and I might have some ideas.’ Harry noticed Ron’s confused expression. ‘I know I’ve left you to do all the groundwork, but it’s our joined case, you know. I’ve been doing some work of my own. As for this git, I think we best talk to Shacklebolt, he’s the one with authority, maybe he’ll find him a place in Azkaban for the time being.’

Harry stood up, ignoring Malfoy’s violent protests at the notion of being sent to Azkaban, and sent his Patronus to the Minister for Magic, requesting an immediate meeting. All three men spend the next 30 minutes in complete silence, until a knock on the door signified Minister’s arrival. Harry opened the door and led Kingsley inside. As he settled into Harry’s chair, Ron relayed the whole story of how Draco Malfoy ended up in the middle of London after a year of being presumed to be dead. When he finished, Shacklebolt stared at all three of them in silence for a while, lost in thought.

‘So, Mr. Wesley…’ He said, looking at Ron. ‘you say you suspect Mr. Malfoy might be a part of this scheme you and Mr. Potter have been investigating?’

‘Yes, sir.’ Ron nodded nervously.

‘But you are not sure, and Mr. Malfoy is firmly denying everything?’

‘Exactly.’

‘And you want me to order Mr. Malfoy to be sent to Azkaban for an indefinite amount of time until you find this band of snatchers and manage to confirm Mr. Malfoy’s involvement?’

‘That was actually Harry’s idea, Minister.’ To Ron’s right, Draco was looking like he was about to say something, but he was promptly silenced by Shacklebolt’s raised hand.

‘Gentlemen, as much as I applaud your sacrifices to your job, spending three nights in some field in northern Scotland, I cannot do that. Mr. Malfoy is, for all intents and purposes, an innocent person, so there is no way I can have him sent to Azkaban just because of Mr. Weasley’s intuition.’ Draco looked relieved. ‘But I do agree that Mr. Malfoy’s propensity to vanish at a drop of a hat poses a certain threat to this investigation. Under normal circumstances, Mr. Malfoy would be placed on house arrest until this matter is resolved – however, I am aware, that there are some unusual circumstances in this particular situation. Hence, I suggest one of you two takes responsibility for Mr. Malfoy for the time being.’ Harry and Ron groaned.

‘But Minister, we can’t do that…’ Harry protested weakly.

‘I assure you that you can. The groundwork can be done by one person and all the paperwork will not suffer if it’s being handled in the comforts of your own homes for a period of time.’ It was no changing Shacklebolt’s mind.

‘But sir, I have a wife and a young child at home, I can’t be responsible for… for _him_!’ Ron was flailing about raising his voice.

‘Well, that is a concern, I have to admit it. In that case, Mr. Potter, you’ll be the one responsible. You live alone, am I correct?’

‘I do, but can’t I just lock him inside Grimmauld Place and go live in my apartment?’

‘No, Mr. Potter, you cannot. You are to stay with Mr. Malfoy and keep an eye on him. I will have all the necessary paperwork regarding your current cases owled to you, and you will remain on what they call _home office_ until you crack the case.’ And with that, Kingsley left their office. All Harry could manage after being ordered to basically be Malfoy’s nanny for the foreseeable future was a very loud, and very work-inappropriate _I fucking hate this bloody job!_


	2. How do you even deal with being sober?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As per my usual fashion - this gets dark. VERY fast. So, you have been warned.

If anyone was less happy with Shacklebolt’s abomination of an arrangement than Harry Potter was, it was Draco Malfoy. For the first twelve hours, while the drugs were still in his system, the whole thing seemed bearable (albeit by a very slim margin), but by that evening, when everything cleared, Draco was reduced to a permanent fixture on Potter’s couch, staring at the ceiling, not paying any attention whatsoever to his surroundings. The bitter truth slowly crept up on him, simultaneously with the drugs leaving his system – he was once again a part of the wizarding community that didn’t want him there, and even worse, he was now a suspect in a case held by the Auror Office. He never imagined his life would turn out more loathsome than it had been back in the Muggle London, but at this point, he would give everything for an opportunity to become Yasmine again. Hell, even having sex with Potter seemed like a better option than being forced to spend a single second more on his bloody couch.

It didn’t help that his carefully selected combination of herbs, designed to make him forget about everything he has ever experienced in his life, was far out of his reach, left behind in his hut in Scotland when Weasley came and forced him to come back to London. And to think the damn redhead showed up merely weeks after Draco managed to perfect the blend! The first attempt made him jittery and anxious, the second rendered him unconscious for days, the third made him excruciatingly hungry and the fourth seemed to set his lungs on fire – it was only after months of trial and error that he finally figured out the correct ratios to just feel calm, collected and – for once – not in pain. And now it was all gone – just like everything he ever had, he concluded bitterly and sighed. The universe seemed to be conspiring against him, for as soon as anything even remotely positive shined on the horizon, it was promptly snatched away, sending Draco into complete darkness over and over again. He groaned and turned to the side. He was too exhausted to battle all the crap that his life has become, so it seemed like getting some sleep was a reasonable idea.

But it appeared that not even sleep was in the cards for Draco. He tossed and turned for the whole night and when he finally, miraculously, managed to drift away for what seemed like a fraction of a second, he was woken up by none other than Harry bloody Potter making himself a cup of coffee.

‘Merlin, do you HAVE to be so loud?’ Draco spat. ‘I’ve just fallen asleep!’

‘Oh, excuse me for disturbing!’ Potter’s mocking tone was getting on his last nerve. ‘If it makes you feel any better, you’re disturbing me more than I’m disturbing you. I’ve got paperwork to do and I’ve got nowhere to do it, since you’re occupying my couch.’

‘Fine, I’ll gladly go! Believe me, I have no interest in staying here!’

‘Yeah, and I’ll tell Kingsley what? That you’ve been taking too much space in my living room? Just shut up and go sleep in my bed.’ Potter sighed in resignation and Draco reluctantly got up to walk into the bedroom.

Once he threw himself onto Potter’s bed, he felt like he was in another world. However much Draco hated him, he had to admit the git knew how to choose a mattress. He stretched himself along the bed and drifted away almost instantly, faintly noticing being surrounded by warmth and a hint of a masculine scent that smelled like a weird but pleasant combination of sandalwood, pine and freshly cut grass.

***

For the next week each day looked the same – Draco fully awake for the whole night, going to sleep in Potter’s bed as soon as the other man entered the kitchen. Or at least that’s how Draco hoped Potter would see it. He didn’t know why exactly Potter would let him sleep in his bed every day but it didn’t even matter – it was the only way he could find some peace and serenity now, since each night was getting progressively worse than the previous one with, what Draco concluded to be withdrawal symptoms, getting stronger and stronger. Thursday Draco has spent eight hours pacing nervously around Potter’s living room shaking like a leaf and by Friday night he thought he was going to die from pain and nervousness. It was like he was trapped there, Voldemort and all his cohorts lurking outside the windows, while he was lying on the floor in a fetal position crying, because his whole skin was simultaneously being burned with a million cigarette buds and pricked with even more needles. Come morning, he thought he never felt so bad in his life. It proved to be very naïve of him though, because the next night he was just straight up being _Crucio’d_ on the kitchen floor. By the time Potter woke up, he couldn’t take it anymore. He needed something, anything, to make it all go away. He briefly contemplated running away, just for the night, just to get to his stash of herbs left in Scotland to bring them back, but he realized that was not possible, not with all the protective enchantments surrounding the apartment. So, through all the pain and agony that filled his whole body, he tried to devise some other plan to just get some relief. When he saw, like through a thick fog, Potter standing above him, he knew he was a lost cause.

‘Jesus, Malfoy, what the fuck?!’ Potter exclaimed.

‘Withdrawal…’ Draco managed between sobs. ‘I can’t take it… Please… Help me…’ He didn’t even care how pathetic he must look.

‘What do I do?’ Potter kneeled beside him.

‘My herbs… Back in Scotland…’

‘Are you CRAZY?!’ Potter’s scream was like an axe to the head. ‘You want me to bring you DRUGS?!’

‘God… Please… I’ll do anything…’

‘No. There’s no way anyone is smoking in this apartment.’

‘Please… Anything… Whatever you want…’

‘No. Forget it. Think of literally anything else!’

‘There is nothing else… Please… I’ll do whatever…’ Through his foggy brain, Draco knew he had to do something to convince Potter to bring him the drugs, but he didn’t know what might change his stance. ‘I’ll have sex with you…’ It just came out. Draco didn’t even realize what he said before he registered Potter’s shocked expression.

‘God, you’re sick.’ Potter spat and stood up.

***

He didn’t even think it was possible to feel worse than he already did, but the next night the physical agony Draco was still in (slightly less excruciating than what he experienced on Potter’s kitchen floor, although not by much) seemed to have found itself a friend in a mental one. Around 3 o’clock in the morning he came to a glum conclusion that he would much rather go through the same pain he was in the night before – at least the feeling of being subjected to something akin to an Unforgivable Curse shut down his brain periodically and he didn’t have to battle the constant stream of self-loathing and crushing disgust with what he’d become, on top of feeling like his whole body was being sliced with a knife inch by inch.

Not only has he been seen sobbing like a child on the floor, begging for drugs, but he was ready to sell himself, yet again, to Potter of all people, to survive. And somehow this was worse than when he actually did it over a year before – because this time there was no tricking, there was no Yasmine, it was clearly and undeniably him, in his own skin. His brain, seemingly on its own accord, decided to torture him with a mental image of Potter’s reaction when he found out who Yasmine really was, side by side with the memory of Draco being just left there last night. Last night was incomparably worse, that much Draco knew for sure. And then, out of nowhere, Weasley’s face, painted with utter shock and horror, swam into his head: _But how? You’re dead! You killed yourself a year ago!._ Draco smirked bitterly to himself – oh, if only… Everything would be perfect, wouldn’t it? There would be no pain, no humiliation…

So there he was. On Potter’s couch somewhere in London, wishing he was dead. He has never gone that far in his spiral. In the Muggle world, he was determined to do whatever it took to survive, to build himself a new life – even after he thought everyone knew what he had become, there was still a chance to hide somewhere and avoid the judgement of the community. And once he did run, he found solace in the drugs – they kept his own mind dulled down, making it impossible to dwell on what his whole life turned into, even if he wanted to (not that he did, he wasn’t a masochist). But now he was forced to resurface from his exile, stripped not only of any dignity that might have lingered somewhere adjacent to him (because it for sure didn’t feel like it was in him), but also from the only thing that somehow help him just exist out there in the world (after all, what he had out there, in the middle of nowhere in Scotland, could hardly be classified as ‘life’). There was nothing left for him here – even if he was to disregard his most current state and not count the pathetic Draco Malfoy-shaped vessel he’d been reduced to, his future didn’t exactly seem that much more optimistic. He was either going to be found guilty of being a part of some scheme he had nothing to do with and sentenced to Azkaban, or he was going to be declared innocent and let go – but to where exactly? Once again, he had no place to live and nothing to his name. Scotland was out of the question, now that Weasley knew where to find him, and going back to the Muggle world didn’t seem like much of an option either – his encounter with Potter taught him it was far too easy to be found there. Once again, he was treated to a memory of what Weasley said the other day: last year Potter apparently wanted to help him. He scoffed – like that would be a viable option! No, there was no chance. He refused to sink any further and accept charity ( _especially_ from Potter) – and even if he decided to let go of any last shred of who he once was (not that he was sure there was anything to let go of left there at all) then after his display last night, that particular ship has sailed.

He closed his eyes. It seemed like the decision has made itself. There would be no Draco Malfoy anymore – or at least, no body occupying the Earth under the name, because Draco Malfoy, a person, was long gone at this point anyway.

***

Now that he made up his mind, he only needed to figure out how to approach the task he has set for himself. Even in his own head, Draco refused to call it what it was – it was just a _task_ , not _suicide_. He was not suicidal, he merely wanted to get rid of his own body. Who he once was, was dead the moment he stepped foot out of the Ministry of Magic after his parents’ sentencing, so it was only logical the body would follow suit.

_Avada Kedavra_ was out of the question entirely – he didn’t have his wand, he left it in Scotland, and he wasn’t going to off himself with Potter’s one. It seemed inappropriate and he knew that it would be rather difficult for Potter to prove that he wasn’t the one to kill Draco (although why that particular aspect of it stood out to him, Draco had no idea). Then, there was a possibility of poisoning himself – that would prove rather difficult, he concluded, since Potter seemed to rely heavily on Muggle medicine, at least judging by the contents of his bathroom cabinet, and Draco had absolutely zero idea what any of the little white pills might be for – they all looked the same to him and the names (or what he assumed to be names, for they were displayed on the labels of the bottles) gave him no indication whatsoever. He immediately disregarded any of the methods he considered ‘violent’ like shooting (why did Potter keep a Muggle gun in his drawer anyway?) or hanging himself – he knew he looked bad enough already, there was no need to do any more damage than strictly necessary. By sunrise, Draco came to a conclusion that the only viable option was slitting his wrists.

***

It was only two days later that Draco finally brought himself to actually following through with his plan – it was surprising, because when the idea first occurred to him, he thought he was certain that’s what he wanted, what he needed to do, but the moment he actually decided on the method, doubts began to surface. What if there was some happiness in store for him? What if he was about to cross out any future he might be able to carve out for himself somehow? And why exactly was he planning to do this in Potter’s apartment of all places? It wasn’t like he had any deadline to stick to – he could very well wait until he was finally let out of the place, he didn’t need to scar Potter with his actual death any more than he already did with his ‘pretend’ one several months ago. That last thought proved disturbing – why was he concerning himself with what Potter felt anyway? They hated each other, they were locked together only because of the idiot’s boss’s bloody stupid decision to place Draco under house arrest and it’s not like they exchanged any words ever since the kitchen incident. No, he didn’t care how Potter felt about his death, it was just a matter of convenience and appearances – he was shunned all right, but he wasn’t quite hated like his parents were. And if he was to commit suicide (the longer Draco thought about it, the more it became clear that that’s what he was planning to do – and it was unnerving in itself) in Potter’s living room, the latter would surely spiral even more than the last time, and then Draco would be widely seen as the cause of wizarding community’s loss of their no. 1 hero. And that would lead to hatred. But then again, why would he care? He would be stone cold by then, so let the people think what they want, it wouldn’t make any difference to him.

And yet, the thought of it all made Draco’s hands shake uncontrollably. He was sitting there, on that bloody couch, razor in hand, and he was shaking like a leaf. He needed something to calm him down if this was to be a successful mission. He sighed and made his way to the kitchen – he knew Potter kept a couple of bottles of whisky and vodka in one of the cupboards. He selected what he knew to be some Slavic abomination that burned worse than Firewhisky on its way down, and poured himself a shot. God, it was disgusting! And what’s worse, it didn’t work at all. Shaking his head he concluded he needed more of it. He sat back down on the couch, looked suspiciously at the bottle and decided that shot glasses were too much of a hassle for his purposes. Throwing his head back, he took a couple of big gulps before nearly spitting it all out – he never liked Muggle alcohol. He waited a few minutes and decided it still wasn’t enough. He sighed again and braced himself for another go at the bottle. This time, when he was finished drinking, it was already half-empty. If this much alcohol in his system wouldn’t work, nothing will, he thought. But just as he arrived at that conclusion, something began rising inside him – and it wasn’t courage nor warmth he usually felt after drinking. Abandoning the vodka next to the razor on the table, he ran to the bathroom – if he was going to be sick, at least he would hurl into the toilet bowl.

It felt horrible. It was like someone stuck a hook in his insides and was relentlessly pulling it upward again and again and again, until there was nothing there to be thrown up. And even then, the pulling sensation didn’t stop. The world around Draco got all blurred up, all he could hear was ringing in his ears and all he was able to focus on was the fact that by that point he was puking some disgusting, yellow substance that smelled like rotten eggs. He didn’t even know how long it was before he could take one breath. Once it all somehow settled, he vaguely followed his own thought process what led him to this point – he was going to slice his own wrists open, he was too nervous and downed at least 17 ounces of Potter’s vodka. And now he had to do it all over again if he was to ever succeed in finally killing himself: because no matter how much he hated what he’s gotten himself into, that much he knew – he had to end his life tonight because it was going to be all downhill from here on.

Deciding he needed to pace himself with the alcohol, he groaned and stood up to return to his bottle. But as soon as he turned around to leave the bathroom, he was suddenly face to face with Potter.

‘What do you think you’re doing?!’ Potter was clearly furious.

‘Drinking. What does it look like?’

‘And you’re leaving the bathroom why exactly?’

‘To drink some more.’ Draco pushed past Potter to enter the living room.

‘You’ve been throwing up liver bile and you’re planning on _drinking some more_?!’ Potter followed him and now he was hovering over Draco like an annoyed parent. ‘Are you suicidal?!’ Suddenly, Potter’s gaze fell to the razor on the table. He picked it up. ‘WHAT IS THIS?!’

‘A razor.’

‘Oh my God, you ARE suicidal! You were planning to cut your own wrists right here right now!’

‘Maybe.’

‘Have you completely lost your mind?!’

‘No. For once I’m thinking clearly.’ No matter how much Draco threw up, he was still drunk, so he was in no state to stop himself from talking to Potter right now. ‘Tell me, Potter, what do I have to live for? I have nothing, I’ve been completely disgraced by what my parents did and then I took it further myself, becoming a Muggle whore…’

‘And you topped it all off with a drug addiction.’ Potter remarked bitterly.

‘Exactly. So what do I have to lose? There is nothing that keeps me here.’

‘How do you even know that? Your life is not over yet, maybe something will happen and it’ll all turn out for the better.’

‘Spare me.’ Draco laughed dryly. ‘You know as well as I do there is no coming back from this. I might as well just end it all now and be done with it.’

‘Jesus, Malfoy, I never thought you’re in that deep…’ Potter looked lost.

‘And why exactly do you care?’ He reached for the bottle, but Potter caught his wrist – the skin underneath Potter’s fingers burned.

‘I just do. There’s still time to sort all of this crap out, you know?’ He looked Draco straight in the eyes, not releasing his arm. Draco suddenly felt like he was being burned to a crisp by the intense gaze.

‘And what good does waiting do me?’ Draco refused to look down. They were frozen like that, Harry’s hand on Draco’s wrist, eyes locked, leaning towards each other, for a couple of seconds before Harry finally let go and spoke.

‘You? Maybe nothing, I don’t know.’ He hesitated. ‘Me? A lot.’


	3. Is gratitude a Malfoy virtue?

It was nearly a month into his forced cohabitation with Potter and Draco was growing increasingly tired of the situation, especially now that the bloody Chosen One insisted on keeping his eye on him to ‘make sure he wouldn’t do anything stupid’. Someone might think he started caring for the blonde all of a sudden, but Draco wasn’t an idiot – he knew all Potter was doing was ensuring that he didn’t land in hot water if a suspect in a case he was working on, the very same one he was supposed to watch over, turned up dead in his own apartment. Regardless, Potter’s incessant need to hover over Draco 24/7 was quickly getting on his last nerve.

And so one night, after Potter refused (again) to go to bed like a normal human being and leave him be, Draco sat down on Potter’s kitchen island and asked:

‘So tell me, Potter, how long is this going to go on?’

‘What exactly?’ Potter raised his eyes from the pile of paperwork in front of him.

‘Me being here. How long are you planning on dragging this?’

‘Are you insinuating I’m prolonging this on purpose?’ Potter’s eyebrows shot up.

‘Nothing of the sort. I’m merely commenting on your, rather pitiful I might add, inability to catch a band of snatchers. Although now that you mentioned it…’ he smirked ‘…it does seem rather odd that the person who supposedly killed the Dark Lord would be defeated by a group of hobos with wands.’

‘Not _supposedly_ , that’s for one.’ Potter spat, clearly annoyed. ‘And for the other, those are not _hobos with wands_ – they are really good at hiding their tracks. Why do you think the case ended up in the Auror Office anyway?’

‘I don’t know, you needed to justify why you’re still operating after the war?’ Draco laughed.

‘Sod off, Malfoy. It’s a difficult case and me being stuck here with you doesn’t help. If I was able to go into the office at least I would have someone to bounce ideas off of.’

‘Go ahead, what did the Saviour of All Wizardkind come up with so far?’ Draco stretched. It occurred to him that trying to help Potter crack the case might actually do him some good – he’d have something to occupy his mind at least.

‘Why? You want me to treat you like I would one of my co-workers all of a sudden?’ Potter was sceptical.

‘Why not? The sooner you get this done, the sooner I’m out of here. And you’re clearly not smart enough to do it on your own.’

‘Fine…’ Potter sighed, rolling his eyes ‘I suppose you might have a point. Not with me being stupid, obviously, but with the other thing.’

‘Tell yourself what you want. Now, shoot.’

‘Ok, so as far as we know, they travel all over the country convincing elderly witches and wizards the Death Eaters are coming back. From what Ron gathered, there was at least one instance when they pointed someone – _you_ – out as evidence, although we don’t know if they knew that you were a Death Eater or if it was just a coincidence.’

‘ _Had been_ a Death Eater, Potter, not _were_. And if I was you I would assume they saw the Dark Mark and used it – I wasn’t hiding it really anymore and if they’re as good as you say, they wouldn’t risk using someone random, there would be too much of a chance for fuckup. Besides, this was the only time they did that, right? So, if it was just a coincidence, this type of behaviour would pop up every time – why would they only do it once if they were just using a completely random person? They would do it every time if that was the case, there is a lot of unsuspecting Muggles out there they could use to strengthen their argument.’

‘Wow, you actually might have a point…’ Harry was impressed.

‘Told you, Potter, I’m smart. Frankly, I’m surprised you haven’t managed to figure this much on your own, it’s the only logical conclusion.’

‘But then, it seems like a very suspicious coincidence that you would be there to effectively help them…’

‘Coincidence – yes, suspicious – no. If I was in on it, they would take me to travel with them, that’s one thing. I would be, well, I was, the perfect excuse for them, so they would want me everywhere they went to use me just as they did in that village.’

‘Not necessarily, Malfoy. It would be fishy that you turn up out of nowhere and immediately afterwards there’s a group of people offering protection against, well, you. People are not stupid enough to not connect the dots.’

‘Trust me, they are. And besides, if I was part of that scheme do you honestly thing I would do it for free? I wouldn’t be living in that God forsaken place if I had a way to make money and get out of there.’

‘You’re still not convincing me. You might have been forced to do it.’

‘Potter, don’t make me laugh.’ Draco scoffed, offended. ‘Me? Forced to do something? Have you not seen me duel?’

‘Ok, maybe.’ Harry sighed in resignation. ‘Let’s assume for now you’re telling the truth. But how do I find those guys?’

‘Where have they surfaced so far?’ Draco slid gracefully off the counter and crammed next to Potter on the couch, bending over a hastily drawn map. ‘Ok, so it seems like they’re steering clear from any big cities and communities with a large number of wizards… Now, do you have any dates? It might be useful to track when they went where, there might be a pattern somewhere.’

‘Hold on, I think Ron wrote a list at some point’ Harry stretched over Draco’s lap to reach to the other side of the couch for another stack of parchments. Suddenly, it felt very warm in the room. ‘Yeah, here it is.’ Harry sat straight up again and handed Draco a list.

‘Hmmmm… I don’t see any pattern…’ Draco muttered, studying the list.

‘I don’t either. I have been looking at this thing for weeks now, it doesn’t make any sense!’

‘There has to be something in there, I know it. We just can’t crack it.’ Draco was determined to find the answer. He _was_ a Slytherin, so he wouldn’t just settle for not knowing. ‘Nobody who runs a scheme like that operates without a plan for this long and manages to not be captured.’

‘I did. When we were hunting the horcruxes, we didn’t have a set route to follow…’ Harry hesitated.

‘Because you’re idiots. And besides, from what I gathered, you didn’t exactly have a plan in place. ‘Find them and destroy them’ is not a plan, Potter. No, this is different, they clearly know who they are going to target and they are knocking them off one by one…’

‘You think the victims are preselected?’

‘Not necessarily. Look at your list of victims, do any of them have any family or wizard neighbours? My guess is, they’ve set to sought out the lonely ones – if they have nobody to talk to about their decision to spend money on this ‘protection’, they’re an easier target.’

‘So it’s a type of victim they’re after, not a particular person?’

‘At first, yes. And then they have to observe their victim to make sure they got it right. They can’t accidentally approach any Muggles, can they?’ Draco’s mind was in full riddle-solving mode right now. He was really starting to enjoy doing this with Potter.

‘Wow, you’re really good at this!’

‘Thank you. Now, how would they prove conclusively that a person is first a witch and second, a potential target…?’ He got lost in thought. ‘There must be a trigger of some sort, but what would it be…?’

‘Trigger?’ Potter’s voice brought him back to reality.

‘Yes, trigger. A thing that would let them determine if a person is magical and if they have someone to rely on in a time of a crisis.’

‘Wait, you don’t mean…’ Harry looked frightened ‘…you don’t mean they would attack a person?’

‘No, no, that’s way too obvious. Nobody is that stupid that they wouldn’t make a link between being attacked and them showing up immediately afterwards.’

‘You said it yourself, people are stupid.’ Potter remarked.

‘Not _that_ stupid, Potter. There has to be something else.’ Suddenly, an idea sprung to his mind. ‘Do you have any reports on what happened in those locations days before they showed up? They might just travel around the country following events they didn’t cause and using them.’

‘No, I don’t have that.’ Potter said, disappointed. ‘But I might recruit some trainee to compile a list! Merlin, this is exciting, I need to talk to Ron about this!’ He jumped to his feet. Suddenly, it occurred to Draco how close to each other they were sitting – he felt a chilly breeze lick his side where it has been pressed against Potter.

***

It was two days later when Weasley showed up in Potter’s apartment. Both of them were now sitting in the kitchen arguing in hushed voices, glancing over at Draco, who was sitting on the couch going over Potter’s paperwork for the tenth time. Even though the two ex-Gryffindors were trying to be as quiet as possible, he overheard their conversation.

‘I know, but MALFOY?!’ Weasley seemed outraged. ‘Don’t you think it’s irresponsible to trust his ideas?’

‘Do we have any other choice? You’ve been running around Britain like a maniac for three months and we have nothing!’

‘I know, but he’s a suspect!’

‘Based solely on your hunch…’ Potter sounded bitter.

‘Like my hunches ever bothered you before! What’s gotten into you all of a sudden?!’

‘I don’t know. He made a pretty good case for himself.’

‘Of course he did, he’s been messing with you! He waited a month to figure you out! Don’t you think it’s a little weird he suddenly got interested in the case? Why not from the start?’ Weasley was shaking his head in disbelief.

‘It’s not like it was just out of nowhere one day…’ Potter’s voice trailed off.

‘What was it then?’

‘Something happened.’ Draco was suddenly petrified with fear. Potter was going to tell Weasley all about his state…

‘What happened?’

‘I can’t tell you. Just trust me on this, I know what I’m doing.’ Draco breathed again – so Potter wasn’t going to sell him out. Somewhere in the back of his brain there was a voice reminding him it was the _second_ time that happened.

‘There is a lot of _something_ happening between you and Malfoy lately, you know? If I didn’t know any better I’d think you’re into some shady business with him… or worse.’

‘Me? Please, don’t be ridiculous. And what can be worse anyway?’ Potter snorted.

‘I don’t know. I’m just saying, first you _accidentally_ run into him and he goes off the grid, then you’re moping for over a year about it, and now you’ve recruited him to work the case with you. It all seems a bit iffy in you ask me.’

‘I told you already, I thought he was dead and that it was my fault. And there’s nothing _iffy_ about me looking for help with the case. We both used to do it back in the office.’

‘Yeah, with actual Aurors! Don’t you see the difference?’

‘Whatever. If he’s guilty, his accomplices will be enough to convict him, no matter how hard he tries to get out of it. Now, will you help me or not?’

‘I guess. I’ll have some first-year trainee look through the archives. But I’m keeping an eye on you both, I’m still not convinced you’re in your right mind.’ With that, Weasley stood up and left the apartment, without even looking at Draco. Potter sighed and rested his forehead on the counter.

‘So I take it Weasley is not happy about my involvement?’ Draco asked, looking up from the papers.

‘You heard?’

‘Please, it’s not like your place is a palace. What are you going to do about it anyway?’

‘Nothing. There’s nothing I can do. Even if I thought he was right, which I don’t by the way, you already know everything. So short of obliviating you, which would be entirely counterproductive, there isn’t anything I can do about it. Like it or not, we’re stuck in this together now.’

‘I’ll manage to survive that responsibility.’ Draco smirked, but there was no bite to his words. Truth be told, he grew to like working with Potter on this – and it wasn’t only because it was keeping his mind off other things, although he wasn’t prepared to analyse any other reasons behind it.

‘You’ll have to. I’m intent on keeping you alive.’ Potter smiled slightly. It was the first time Draco actually saw him smile at him – or even in his presence.

‘Why didn’t you tell Weasley what happened?’ He said before he could stop himself.

‘What happened when? This year or last?’

‘Either. You’re best friends, supposedly, one would think you would share this sort of thing.’

‘Didn’t feel appropriate. He doesn’t need to know that. And I figured you wouldn’t want anyone else to know.’ Potter looked down.

‘Since when do you care what I want?’

‘I don’t know. I just felt like it’s not my place to go spilling your secrets. I saw your reaction to me seeing you then and I saw it a couple of days ago and it felt like it was more than enough that I knew…’

‘But a year ago you thought I killed myself. And now you know I didn’t, so why not tell him now? The ‘reaction’ you had to go on proved false.’

‘It wasn’t about that…’ Potter’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘It wasn’t that I thought you were dead, it was what happened before.’

‘Which was…?’ Draco wasn’t sure he really wanted an answer to that, but he went too far to backtrack from the conversation now.

‘You know, your behaviour back in the…’ Potter sighed ‘back in the place. I saw you were terrified to be found there, at what must have been your lowest, and I just thought that nobody needs to know that. That nobody needs this sort of thing being put on blast about them.’

‘Wow, I seem to have misjudged you, Potter. I never thought you had it in you. I thought you hated me enough to use this.’ Why was he saying this? Draco was already mentally reprimanding himself for this sudden outburst of sincerity.

‘I might hate you, Draco, but not that much. I knew you were hurting and using this against you, for whatever reason, would be going way too far.’ Draco didn’t know what happened, but hearing Potter use his first name did something to him. Before he knew it, he was looking directly into Potter’s eyes with what he could only think of as gratitude painted all over his face. He vaguely registered his father’s voice in his head reminding him that he was a Malfoy and Malfoys don’t do this sort of thing.

‘Thank you.’ He managed through a strained throat. That was all he could bear right now – he stood up and walked into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.


	4. What is sex supposed to feel like?

Somehow, all the emotions Draco thought he’d left behind him in recent days, came back. He was sitting there, on Potter’s windowsill, at 2 in the morning, smoking a Muggle cigarette (how exactly did it happen? He used to be a proud Slytherin and now he somehow managed to go through all the vices he could think of in a span of a month…), wearing some abominable creation he’s been supplied with (‘sweatpants’, was it?), battling a string of confusing thoughts and images that had no place to even be in his brain, let alone resurface like that.

It all started with a sudden impression, that he smelled, very faintly, whatever it was that hugged him when he used to fall asleep in Potter’s bed. He opened the window to get some fresh air and felt a cold, winter breeze prick his skin – and that all of a sudden led to a flashback to how it felt when Potter stood from the couch after they managed to make some progress in the case. And how he felt before it. He hadn’t even registered it then, but now it was crystal clear – it was the same sensation as what Potter’s fingers closing on his wrist days prior gave him. What in Merlin’s name was going on with him? It wasn’t that he was falling in love with the git, that much he knew for sure, because no matter what people said, Draco knew how love felt. It wasn’t burning, it wasn’t leaving him unbearably cold when it went away, it was more of a sense of safety and tranquillity that spread through his veins. But if not love, than what? Hatred made no sense, because there would be relief the moment Potter’s bedroom door shut behind him and there wasn’t any of it – he would just feel cold and alone.

Alone. That seemed to be the theme for his life right now. He had nobody by his side. Potter was forced to take him in, like he was some shelter dog, but it was clear he didn’t want him there. Sure, they managed to act like adults around each other, there wasn’t any hostility between them anymore, maybe even they had some fun working the case for a couple of brief, fleeting moments, but that was no friendship. As soon as he was cleared, Draco was planning to get the hell out of Potters apartment and never return. He would go… Well, where exactly? The bitter realisation that he had no _home_ came back.

He groaned and lit another cigarette. The pack was half-empty already, despite Potter throwing it at him hours before. When he first suggested Draco tried tobacco to slow his, permanently racing, mind down the day before, Malfoy only scoffed. How would some mundane, Muggle plant help him? But it did seem to work and now he was hooked. Maybe it wasn’t as good as his herbs, maybe it didn’t empty his mind completely, but at least while the smoke filled his lungs he was able to focus on one thing at a time. _And it’s the best thing after sex_ – his brain reminded him of what Potter said. Yeah, like he was ever going to have sex again after what being Yasmine put him through. No, this was the last thing he wanted. He shook his head. It was no use opening that particular can of worms, he was feeling bad enough already. He was feeling strangely proud of his ability to compartmentalize his struggles – if he wasn’t able to put everything he ever went through into neat little boxes and shove them to the very bottom of his brain, he wouldn’t have survived this long. Especially since all he could do otherwise was to dwell on them over and over again, because there wasn’t anybody to even talk it all through with. Like a boomerang, the word _alone_ came back to him. He looked through the window – there was a couple holding hands, kissing, clearly saying their goodbyes at the bus stop. Suddenly, Draco felt furious – this wasn’t fair! Life was not supposed to turn out that way, he wasn’t supposed to end up all on his own. _Fuck you!_ he screamed at the couple ant shut the window.

As soon as he slid off the windowsill, Potter ran into the room, clearly woken up by his outburst.

‘What’s going on?’ He panted.

‘Nothing, I’m just angry.’ Draco shrugged and sat on the couch.

‘At what?’

‘Nothing in particular. Just saw some obnoxious couple at the bus stop.’

‘And what did they do to you?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Can you stop saying ‘nothing’, please? Talk to me like an adult.’ Potter sat next to him.

‘There isn’t _anything_ to talk about. I saw them, they pissed me off, I screamed, I calmed down, now we’re here.’

‘You’re spiralling again.’

‘I’m not. Do you seriously think I’m going to have another go at killing myself because some Muggles were kissing?’

‘I don’t know. You might.’

‘I’m not, Potter, I’m not a lunatic.’

‘Somehow, I don’t trust you. I’m going to stay here until I’m convinced you’re stable enough to be left alone.’

‘And how exactly are you planning on achieving this ambitious goal?’ Draco was quickly getting irritated with Potter.

‘I don’t know yet. Seeing as we’re both up anyway, we might just as well talk.’ Potter seemed unfazed.

‘What about?’ Draco was desperately trying to come up with something that would get rid of Potter. He wasn’t exactly succumbing to self-loathing like he used to, but it didn’t mean he was feeling entirely good about himself right now.

‘Anything you want.’

‘What does sex with a woman feel like?’ There. This was bound to shut Potter up.

‘You don’t…’ Harry was clearly shocked.

‘I don’t what, Potter? I don’t know?’

‘Nothing, I just assumed… that you weren’t…’

‘That I wasn’t what, Potter?’ Somehow, flustering the other man like that seemed funny. ‘Jesus, don’t be a prude, spit it out.’

‘…a virgin.’ Potter whispered, red-faced, looking at his lap.

‘I’m not a virgin if that’s what you’re asking. I just never had sex with a woman.’

‘So you’re…’ He still wasn’t looking up at Draco ‘…gay?’

‘That would be the logical conclusion. Yes, Potter, I’m gay. Now, will you tell me or not?’

‘It’s… it’s normal, I guess. Just sex. You do it, you feel good for a second while you come and then you just go back to your life.’ He glanced up hesitantly. ‘I’m sure all sex works that way if you think about it.’

‘Either you never had amazing sex, Potter, or women are overrated.’ The irritation in Draco was subsiding slowly. ‘Because in my experience you don’t just _go back to your life_.’

‘No?’ Potter was fully looking at him by now.

‘No. If it’s good you have at least half an hour of just floating there. And if it’s amazing, well, that’s like the best high you could ever have.’ He trailed off for a second before realizing he was still sitting on Potter’s couch.

‘I’ve never… I’ve never had that.’

‘That much I figured, thank you. So what was the best sex of your life anyway?’ Draco didn’t really know why he asked that question – it must have been the fog that clouded his brain at the memory of his own history.

‘Why are we even talking about this?’ Suddenly, Potter was looking ashamed and slightly angry. ‘Aren’t there any other topics for conversation?’

‘I don’t know, just came to mind. Come on, it’s just between us. You’ve got dirt on me, so it’s only fair I have dirt on you. So who was it? Normani? She-Weasel?’

‘You.’ It was barely audible, even in the complete silence of the apartment. Potter was once again refusing to look up at him, focusing instead on seemingly trying to burn a hole in the floor with his gaze. Draco was completely shocked by Potter’s confession.

‘Wow. That, I was not expecting…’ He tried to pull himself together. ‘But thank you, I’m flattered.’ Out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw Potter get up and leave the room.

***

Safely back in his bedroom, Harry threw himself onto the bed and buried his face into a pillow. The confession he just blurted out without thinking burned like molten metal. Why exactly did he say this? It’s not like he has ever even thought about who his best sex was with. And even now, once he had the chance to consider this question a little more, the answer he gave made no sense. Not only did he never felt what Draco said sex should feel like, but even within his limited scope of experiences what they had was average at best. He had had much more intense orgasms with several girls, and what Draco, no – Yasmine, did, was far from what Normani was capable of. He was being stupid, he thought, it was just residual hatred he still must have had stored away somewhere, that just came out, purely to mess with Malfoy’s head, acting on instinct. _Instinct_. ‘Instinct’ terrified him. Why would _instinct_ connect Draco Malfoy and sex in any capacity? It wasn’t like they ever actually had sex – not on any practical or logical level. Yasmine was not Malfoy, she was a woman. Of course, for the first couple of months after Malfoy’s supposed death, Harry was plagued with nightmares of his last meeting with Yasmine, where Yasmine’s face suddenly turned into Malfoy’s, but it was only because of what happened after they were done – that much was evident from the second part of those dreams where Yasmine-Malfoy shot herself (himself? Harry didn’t even know anymore) in the head. Why this connection suddenly then? He worked through it, managed to rid himself of those nightmares, it was all behind him. Most days he didn’t even think about the memories that caused them – up until the point when bloody Draco Malfoy was back in his life once again. And now all the confusion and bottled up anger was seeping out of him again, doing things like this. He hated his own mind sometimes. He thought if he just tried hard enough to forget about all of it, to just focus on the fact that he had to deal with Malfoy being in his apartment, he would erase everything that happened over a year ago – like it wasn’t even real, like he dreamt it all, and like the reality was that Malfoy just ended up here solely because they needed him for a case and Shacklebolt was being a complete, unreasonable arsehole.

Because really, there was no connection between Harry-Yasmine-Malfoy triangle and the case of the snatchers. There really wasn’t, Malfoy would’ve ended up being forced on him even if Yasmine never existed. _Yasmine didn’t exist, you idiot_ – a voice in his head said. He shook his head trying to silence it. _She did exist!_ he muttered to himself, but it was no use. Now that this voice got there, there was no running away from it.

He sighed and turned onto his back, staring at the ceiling. Why was he suddenly calm and collected? The thought that Yasmine didn’t exist should’ve been enough for him to be throwing up by now – after all, once you accept (or even think) that, the only logical conclusion would be that he, in fact, had sex with Draco Malfoy. And that some part of his masochistic brain registered that as the best sex of his life. But he didn’t _really_ have sex with Malfoy, he told himself again, Malfoy was a bloke and Harry wasn’t into blokes. He never even thought about guys that way, no matter who they were. He was 20 now, so if he was gay he surely would’ve figured it out by now – after all, he has seen his friends in the showers after Quidditch practices countless times, so if he really was into that sort of thing, something would’ve happened then. And this was why, no matter if the voice in his head was or wasn’t right, he sure as hell _did not_ have sex with Malfoy and therefore there was nothing to dwell on.

***

Draco was back on the windowsill again. Why exactly did Potter’s confession shock him like that? He knew he was good at _that job_ (as he began to call it), it was obvious from the number of returning clients. And the second time Potter came to him, he chose Yasmine over Normani, so rationally, he must have been at least better than her. The evidence was compelling, it was all backed up by cold logic and reason – so why was he seemingly being burned from the inside ever since Potter blurted it out? If it was not shock, what was it? He already knew it was not love, this he figured out some time ago, and hatred didn’t fit well with his symptoms. Once again, he rationalized that it must be loneliness. It was perfect – he was completely alone in the world and the thought that he made someone else feel good enough to register it as the best sex of their life was just a reminder of the time he had those kinds of relationships. Any kind of relationships in fact.

But something wasn’t right. If it was just longing for another person to be there for him, why would it get triggered like that at the mention of sex? Literally anything else would do just that if it was the case. He sighed and lit a cigarette. If he was to be honest with himself he would have to face the ugly truth – on some level it was loneliness, but at this point he was so exhausted with his life, that he wasn’t even capable of human needs like companionship. No, the human need to have someone there with him was reduced to the animal need to _have_ someone.

That was all it was. He just needed that one thing to fill the void and Potter was just there. He laughed bitterly. An hour ago he was sure he went through all the vices there were – yet, he forgot about that last one, the most powerful of them all. And he should’ve known better, after all his history was littered with mistakes like that and their consequences. And it was those consequences that made him decide that however much he thought he needed it, he was never going to actually act on it – he has proven time and time again that it was a bad idea when a guy was gay and there was no chance of seeing him again. When Potter was not only straight, but also in the same apartment, the outcome would be catastrophic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are they both in denial about how they're really feeling? What do you think? Let me know :D


	5. Did we have sex?

If coming to terms with that he was actually feeling was difficult, having to deal with it now was even worse. If he didn’t know better, Draco would think he was lovesick – food was barely a necessity now, sleep was evading him, but worst of all, he grew to hate the sound of the running shower. It was idiotic, really, that hearing the stream of water hitting the glass doors and screeching of the old pipes (why would Potter choose to live in this dump anyway? He had a house, hell, he had enough money to get something that was at least built in this century!) gave him _ideas_ , but that’s how it was now – he couldn’t help it, the knowledge that Potter was in the bathroom, _naked_ and _there,_ made his brain come up with all sorts of mental images, each more lascivious than the previous one.

He was in the middle of kicking himself mentally (for the third time that day) for allowing himself to go there ( _It’s not productive, you daft wanker, you’re not going to accomplish anything with this!_ ), when the water stopped and the bathroom door opened. Draco didn’t want to look up, he really didn’t, but there he was, looking at Potter standing there, wrapped in only a towel, water still dripping from his hair. Was he always this handsome? No, he used to be a scrawny teenager for far longer than it was normal (how did Draco even notice this?). So how did he become so… manly, all of a sudden? Being an Auror would force you to get some muscles, sure, but that much? Was this just an undisclosed job perk or was Potter actually doing something to get this ripped?

‘Jesus fucking Christ…’ Draco groaned before he could stop himself.

‘What?’ Potter looked surprised.

‘Nothing.’ He needed to come up with some believable excuse _right now._ ‘You could properly dry yourself before coming out, you know? I’m going to snap my neck on that water you’re leaving all over the place.’ It was weak at best, but it was all he got for now. His brain was severely lacking blood supply at this point it seemed like, because all of it was rapidly rushing south.

‘Never took you for a safety fanatic.’ Potter laughed and left.

He had no idea if Potter bought his lame excuse, but that wasn’t what was important right now. He needed to take care of his _downstairs situation_ (he might be gay, he might get off on mental images of Potter, but Draco was firm on refusing to admit, even to himself, that looking at the bloody Chosen One gave him a boner – not even when all he could think of right now was his arse… _Fucking God, that arse…_ \- no, this was just an unfortunate coincidence, it had nothing to do with the fact that it was Potter, at this point anyone would’ve had the same effect). He sighed, got up and locked himself in the bathroom. Once again, he wished he had his wand – a silencing charm would be a godsent right now. Well, he’ll just have to control himself. He could do that – it’s not like it was the first time he got himself off in Potter’s shower, and so far he managed to stay silent.

He should’ve known this time would be different, though, because this time it wasn’t just his imagination he had to go off of. The second the picture of Potter’s (round, decadent, _delicious…_ ) arse swam into his head, Draco had to bite his lip to stop himself from groaning. But the closer he got to finishing, the more difficult it became – once the orgasm hit him, no amount of blood on his lower lip (he didn’t even register when that happened, he was too preoccupied with fantasizing about running his tongue all over Potter’s impressive muscles) was enough to stop the loud _fuck_ that escaped.

He knew he was screwed the moment he opened the bathroom door and saw Potter standing there (fully clothed, thank God!) looking rather worried.

‘What was that? And why is your lip bleeding?’

‘Jesus, Potter, chill out! I’m an adult, you don’t have to baby me.’ Draco wasn’t even sure if what he was feeling was panic or anger. ‘I fell. I told you to not leave the floor wet!’

‘Ok, sorry, I’ll remember next time.’ It looked like the excuse worked this time. ‘You want me to fix this?’

‘And maim my face? No thank you.’ Now that the brief moment of dread has passed, Draco could focus on trying to sound as irritated as possible.

‘Suit yourself. I’ve gotten pretty decent at treating cuts over the years, but if you’d rather suffer just please, do it in silence. And don’t bleed all over the place – there’s some hydrogen peroxide in the cabinet.’

‘Hydro-what? I swear to God, Potter, you and your Muggle obsession…’ Draco rolled his eyes.

‘Hydrogen peroxide. It’s an antiseptic, it’s what Muggles put on cuts and scrapes so that they don’t get infected.’ He walked to the bathroom and came back holding a small, white bottle. ‘There you go. Pour some on a cloth and stick it to your lip.’ Draco did as instructed and winced.

‘Fuck, it stings! Can’t you just use Dittany like a normal Wizard?’

‘Don’t have any. I don’t keep potions in the house usually, if anything happens on the job I get treated back in the office.’

‘You’re a masochist, Potter. This crap is more painful than the cut itself!’ The stinging didn’t go away at all. ‘Fine, have at it, try and seal this. But if I end up with even a scar, you’ll regret it!’

Harry pressed the tip of his wand against Draco’s lip. They were standing so close that Draco could clearly smell that familiar mixture of scents he first encountered in Potter’s bed. Suddenly, it was way too warm in the room again. He braced himself for another hard-on, but to his surprise, nothing happened. Only when Potter stepped back there was that cold breeze again. Draco flinched and walked to the bathroom to look in the mirror.

‘By the way, an owl came while you were in the shower.’ He heard Potter say. ‘The office sent those reports we requested.’

‘What reports?’ Draco’s mind was elsewhere for a moment, so he didn’t understand what Potter was talking about.

‘On the incidents in places the snatchers turned up in. Apparently, there were several.’

‘Oh, those. Took them long enough, I almost forgot about it. Do they always take this long to do simple paperwork?’

‘Not usually. But they’ve sent a crapton of paperwork, so I guess it wasn’t a quick job.’ He pointed to the kitchen counter. Indeed, there were several stacks of parchment.

‘Jesus, we’re never going to get through this! Couldn’t they have at least analysed this before sending it over?’

‘No, Ron didn’t tell them what it was for. He figured he couldn’t say anything without admitting it was your idea.’

‘Well, I’m thankful.’ Draco hoped Potter would pick up on the irony.

‘Don’t get any ideas. I may think you’re innocent and just trying to help, but Ron doesn’t trust you. Now, are we doing this?’

They spent the next four hours in the kitchen, reading through the reports – Harry on a barstool by the island and Draco sitting on its counter, cross-legged.

‘I have nothing. Absolutely nothing.’ Harry sighed, throwing the last piece of parchment onto the pile. ‘I need coffee.’

‘Yeah, me too. This doesn’t make any sense.’

‘What do you have? Give me something, anything, there needs to be a link somewhere in there!’ Harry said desperately, handing Draco a mug of cappuccino.

‘God, Potter, what is this? I’m gay, I’m not a woman!’ Draco scowled. ‘Just so you know, I take my coffee black, with an unhealthy amount of sugar.’

‘So you like your coffee like you like your guys?’ Potter laughed.

‘For your information, no. It’s actually the complete opposite. Although I don’t know why you would be interested.’

‘I’m not, I’m just joking.’ Potter looked a little unnerved. ‘Anyway, can we go back to the case?’

‘Fine. What do you have so far?’

‘Literally nothing. There were incidents of performing magic in the presence of a Muggle, although we can’t track what that magic was or who performed it, the wands were either unregistered or they belonged to dead people.’

‘Same here. I found one report of an attack on a Muggle, but nothing came of it, and one attack on the person who was later approached, but they didn’t know who did it. Oh, and there was no incident in Scotland, before that last one, when they used me as pawn.’

‘Well, that last one is kind of logical, there was no need for a… how did you call it? Trigger? …if you were there.’

‘Maybe, but how would they know if they didn’t go there following something that happened?’

‘Unless…’ Potter looked like he had some strange idea that might work if it wasn’t too far-fetched. Draco knew this look all too well, it was the same look Potter had anytime he accused him of something back in Hogwarts.

‘Unless what?’ Draco had no idea what Potter was on about.

‘Give me that report on the last scheme.’

‘There is no report, there was no trigger, I told you.’

‘No, not the trigger, the appearance of the band itself. When they approached that old lady. It’s right there next to you.’ Draco moved to pick up the parchment, but Potter was faster – he was already standing behind him, reading and chewing on his bottom lip. ‘There, look!’ Draco vaguely registered that Potter was showing him something in the report, for all his concentration seemed to fade away with the feeling of Potter’s chest being pressed into his back.

‘What? Where?’ He had to pull himself together, quickly, before he inevitably got hard again and Potter would notice something.

‘There, the second line from the top. While he was spying on you, Ron found the remnants of what looked like a campsite. At first we didn’t consider it because we thought you were the one to make it. But then you told me you’ve lived in that hut for a year, so the campsite must be somebody else’s…’

‘Well spotted, Potter.’ To his relief, Draco noticed a complete lack of arousal on his part, although the sensation of Potter’s body against his own still burned. ‘It wasn’t my campsite, so there must have been someone else. But why would that make a difference? We know the snatchers were there, so it doesn’t change anything.’

‘No, no, it makes sense!’ Potter was back on his barstool again and Draco felt cold all of a sudden. ‘They must have been there at least for a couple of days, right? Observing their potential victim, you said so yourself. They spotted you and decided that was proof enough.’

‘So far I’m with you…’ Draco managed to shake the coldness off. ‘But why exactly did they end up there if there was no trigger? We established they followed events that happened.’

‘But what if they didn’t? What if they _caused_ the events?’ Potter’s face lit up. Surprisingly, Draco found this image absurdly sweet. ‘Consider this: they go to a location. They select the victim and they need to find out if it’s a viable target. We already established that the potential victim’s reaction to some sort of magical incident would prove if they are a witch or wizard and if they have someone to talk to. So they provoke a reaction themselves!’

‘It would make sense if not for that last one.’ Draco was sceptical. ‘Let’s assume you’re right – now, they come to Scotland, find that old lady. They wait some time and while they’re waiting they see me and they come up with the idea that I’m all the proof they need. But they still don’t know if the woman is a witch…’

‘It fits, Draco, it does! Look here, at the bottom!’ Suddenly, Potter’s side was on top of Draco’s thigh, pressing firmly in as Potter leaned forward to show him something. It took all of Draco’s willpower to focus on what Potter was saying. ‘The woman said she has seen you several times in that field, right? We know what you were doing there, but the only reason she would be there at the same time would be that she was doing the same thing!’

‘So what, Potter? The old lady was a drug addict?’

‘No, she was there collecting ingredients!’ Potter was all hyped up now, he didn’t even seem to notice how close he was to Draco. ‘I mean, what Muggle would run around in a field in the middle of the night picking up herbs? The snatchers had to have seen it and they had to make the same conclusion!’

‘Okay, let’s say I’m convinced. But what does it change if they caused the triggers or just used them?’

‘Now that we know, we can react quicker. Plus, the use of magic in front of Muggles falls under the normal Wizarding Police, not the Auror Office. So knowing it’s connected to our case this way, we can take that and investigate those ourselves. As soon as something happens we can apparate straight there and make an arrest!’

‘Now you’ve gone too far.’ For some reason Draco felt like he had to cool down Harry’s enthusiasm just a little. He grew to like working with him and he didn’t want the case to get blown because Potter was a hot head. ‘You can’t just arrest them for use of magic in front of a Muggle, you’ll have to wait until they actually make a move to approach their victim. If you arrest them too soon, there would be no way to establish a strong enough connection for a conviction. It’s an issue of evidence – you may know you’re right, but you need to think of how this is going to look in front of the Wizengamont. Honestly, you really need someone with at least a little bit of procedural knowledge in that office of yours…’

‘Wow, you’re right. I’ve never actually thought about the court cases before…’ Potter was looking at him weirdly, like he was… mesmerized? Impressed? Whatever it was, Draco decided not to focus on it, because it was giving him a funny feeling somewhere in the pit of his stomach.

‘That’s because so far you’ve been essentially a bounty hunter, Potter. Your job description was to find people with arrest warrants over their heads, the cases themselves were already made. Now that most of those are gone, you’ll have to figure out how to build cases on your own. If I were you, I’d get myself an assistant for that – you’re way too limited with your logic skills to manage this sort of thing on your own.’

‘I’m going to ignore the jabs at my intelligence, Malfoy, because this is actually a good idea.’ Potter all of a sudden looked slightly intimidated, like he was ashamed of something. ‘In fact, I had a sort of… brief thought…’ He hesitated ‘…nevermind.’

‘What is it?’ Draco was curious to know what Potter really wanted to say.

‘Not important, it was a long time ago. And you’d never say yes to this anyway.’ Potter turned red, like he realized he said to much.

‘Oh, so it’s about me?’ Draco’s curiosity was rising. ‘Spit it out, then.’

‘Well, ok, just don’t scoff at me, ok?’

‘I’ll try, but I can’t promise anything.’

‘Well then, remember how Ron told you I wanted to help you over a year ago? I thought that maybe if you had a place to live and a job you’d be willing to come back from the Muggle side, so I came up with the idea that… that I would give you keys to Grimmauld Place, you know, since I don’t use it anyway, and that maybe you’d work with me in the Office. You were acquitted, but you still were a part of, well, that side, so I thought that your perspective on some things might be useful.’ He had the same expression on his face as when he admitted Draco was the best sex of his life.

‘If that’s still on the table, I’ll think about it.’ Draco had no idea why he said this. But what was even more unnerving, was the fact that even though he knew he should be kicking himself for it, he wasn’t. That somehow, although Draco couldn’t figure out how, it was the right thing to say.

***

Draco couldn’t sleep that night. Why was every Potter’s touch burning him? Well, that much was obvious, he thought, it was still the lust that has resurfaced days prior. And the fact that it didn’t lead to an erection ( _that it lead to only one erection_ his unhelpful brain prompted) was just the testament of how good he’s gotten at managing his own orgasms over the years. But then, why would he find Potter’s enthusiasm over the case that much endearing? And what was with the instinctive agreeing to Potter’s offer (because no matter how much he didn’t want to admit it to himself, if he was to refuse it, he would’ve done it flat out, not said he was going to think about it). He groaned and got up from the couch. He needed to figure this out, and figure this out quickly, because those sleepless nights didn’t agree with him. He was rapidly loosing weight again and his brain was getting all foggy. So once again, Draco was back on the windowsill, smoking and trying to analyse what on Earth was going on with him.

He knew there was lust, but his other reactions didn’t fit into it at all. On the second inhale the loops his thoughts were going in straightened slightly and he began to see things more clearly. One more and he’ll be there. He closed is eyes and focused on the smoke filling his lungs. So, his wanking session in the shower not only pushed any potential erections away, but it must have diminished the lust ever so slightly, so that the need to have someone there for him was starting to resurface. That must be it, the lust was not part of the loneliness, it was just masking it. And now that he has at least partially taken care of it, the more human needs were coming back again. And that he couldn’t have happen. If the physical needs were hard to bear, the loneliness would kill him. He had a taste of it the last time when he exploded and screamed at that random couple, if it came back even stronger than that, his soul would be torn in half. So, he concluded, it was better to just leave the lust unfulfilled for now, and try to figure this all out once he was out of Potter’s apartment.

***

On the other side of the door, Harry was not sleeping either. All is previous determination to not dwell on the ‘did I have sex with Malfoy’ issue was gone the second he remembered pressing himself against the blonde’s back. Why exactly did he do this? He could’ve just as well passed him the parchment. And why did he lean on Draco that second time? There was no logical reason for it. _There was a reason_ – there was that voice again, the very same one that pointed out that Yasmine didn’t exist – _there still is a reason._ No, there was none. It was just a coincidence. _Twice?_ Yes, twice. He got excited over the case and he didn’t think about what he was doing. _And there is your reason. You acted on instinct._ No, God, not the ‘instinct’ again! Why was it that any time the ‘instinct’ came up, it always had something to do with Malfoy? _You know why._ He didn’t. In fact, he was determined not to know why. _You can run, but you can’t hide…_ What exactly is there to hide from? There is nothing, he just got a little lonely now that he couldn’t go out and hook up with the girls like he used to. _But Malfoy wasn’t a girl._ So what? Yasmine was and that was all that counted. _It’s not about Yasmine anymore._ It was. It always was just about her. _Then why did you get hard hearing him in the shower?_ Because it made him go back to his own memories. _You never moaned like that and you know it._ That’s it, that’s enough. ‘Why am I talking to myself?’ – did he really just say that out loud? No, he couldn’t have. But then he heard Malfoy shout ‘Did you say something?’ from the living room.


	6. Am I a twink with a kink?

Harry walked into the living room. He desperately needed a cigarette right now. Of course, Malfoy wasn’t sleeping either.

‘You mind if I join you?’ It was more of courtesy than a question, Harry was going to stand in that window and smoke, no matter what Malfoy said.

‘Have at it.’ Malfoy shrugged. ‘Just don’t blow smoke in my face.’

‘Then make some room on that sill.’ Harry had no idea why he all of a sudden wanted to sit opposite Draco, there was clearly not enough room for two people there. But it came out and Malfoy was already taking his legs off the windowsill to make room for him.

‘You know what, go get some of that Muggle whisky of yours, I need a drink.’

‘You’re not supposed to drink, you already fucked up your liver.’ Harry frowned, but turned towards the kitchen. Truth be told, he could use a drink himself.

‘So you’re a doctor now? Give me a break, I puked once and it was after downing half of your vodka in under 10 minutes.’

‘Ok, let it be. But I’m watching you, you’re not getting that wasted again.’

‘Thanks, dad…’ Harry picked up on the sarcasm but something inside him decided to ignore it, just for a laugh.

‘So now you have a daddy kink? This is getting interesting…’ Harry smirked and took a swig straight from the bottle.

‘And what’s bad about it? Are you trying to shame me right now?’ Draco plucked the bottle from Harry’s hand and took a rather healthy gulp himself. ‘God, Potter, why do you drink this stuff? It’s disgusting!’

‘Never took you for a delicate flower, Malfoy.’ Harry laughed. ‘Although, it would fit…’ His voice trailed off suggestively.

‘Fit what exactly?’

‘You like your guys with no sugar, in your own words, you have a daddy kink…’

‘Will you let it go? I do not have a daddy kink!’

‘Admit it, you’re a twink.’

‘Please.’ Draco scoffed. ‘I’m as far away from being a twink as humanely possible. I have a brain, for instance. And quit hoarding the bottle!’ He took the whisky from Harry, glaring at him.

‘You’re a _classic_ twink. Young, blonde, well-built with a pretty face…’ Harry must have drunk more than he realised, because he would never say any of this if he was sober. But then, the combination of alcohol and his sudden urge to make some light-hearted fun of Draco, gave him all the courage he needed.

‘Wow, are you complimenting me right now?’ Harry registered that sober Malfoy would’ve never smiled when he said that. So, he concluded, the blonde must be as drunk as he is. ‘And how on Earth do you know what a twink is? You said you weren’t gay.’

‘Maybe…’ Harry laughed. ‘And I never said I wasn’t gay, you just assumed it because you know I’ve slept with women.’

‘Are you?’ Draco raised his eyebrows.

‘Am I what?’

‘Gay? Bi? Whatever?’

‘I don’t know, never dwelled on that. I mean, I did have sex with several women, so if I’m not straight, I’d be bi. Why are we dissecting my orientation right now anyway? We were talking about your kink.’

‘Once again: I have no kink. And your sexual preferences are much more interesting than my non-existent fetishes anyway.’

‘On the contrary, my dear Draco, on the contrary.’

‘I’m _dear_ now? God, Potter, if I didn’t know any better I would’ve thought you have the hots for me.’ Draco laughed. ‘Were you ever into any guy anyway?’

‘I’ll tell you if you tell me about your non-existent kinks.’ Harry smirked.

‘What’s there to talk about? I don’t have a kink, I told you twice already, I just like strong, masculine guys. You know, the ‘muscles and a rough exterior’ type.’

‘Interesting… Anyone in particular?’ Sober Harry would be mortified right now, but drunk Harry was having fun.

‘What are you getting at? You’re trying to find out if I’m into you?’ Draco laughed, but there was some undertone there that Harry couldn’t decipher.

‘And what would you do if I said yes?’

‘Nothing. Not like I would’ve answered you anyway, you called me a twink, so now I’m pouting.’ He jokingly crossed his arms at is chest. ‘Who were you into? You never answered.’

‘Consciously? Nobody.’ Harry shrugged.

‘You’re lying.’

‘Well, kind of. I heard a guy wanking off once and it gave me… ideas.’ Not even drunk Harry would admit he was talking about Draco.

‘Ideas?’

‘Ok, ok, a hard-on. But nothing came of it and nothing will, and I’ve never even fantasized about a bloke, so I’m assuming I’m straight and that was just a fluke.’

‘Assumptions are a dangerous thing, Potter…’ Suddenly, Draco was leaning towards him and all Harry could think of was how much he wanted those full lips on his own. Or on his neck. Or on whatever part of his body Malfoy would want them on. But all that happened was that Draco reached across Harry for a pack of cigarettes and lit one. ‘…you never know what’s in you, and you can have a very brutal awakening one day.’ Harry bitterly thought that this particular day has just came.

‘Why? Any experiences you’re willing to share?’ He tried to shake the bitterness of, but it didn’t leave him.

‘Not particularly.’

‘Now you’re the one that’s lying.’

‘Possibly. I rather like being an enigma, Potter, and you know far too much about me anyway.’

‘What do I know?’

‘That I had a drug habit. That I was a whore – frankly, both female and male…’

‘Male? I didn’t know that.’

‘Please, even your limited brain must have registered what I said on your own kitchen floor.’

‘Once again, I’m going to ignore the insult, because the rest is much too interesting to focus on that. So you consider what you said _being a whore_?’

‘What else would that be?’

‘I don’t know. Desperation? Pain? You being into me?’

‘Don’t flatter yourself, I’m not into you. I needed drugs and that’s it.’

‘So you’d sleep with me for drugs and survival but not out of actual desire?’

‘Never thought of you that way. Don’t forget, I hate you.’

‘Do you really? It’s the middle of the night and we’re talking about us having sex. And you’re under no obligation to talk to me right now.’

‘We’re not talking about _us having sex_ , Potter. We’re talking about your ridiculous notion that I’m into you. Which is not true, by the way.’ If Harry was sober, he might have been able to understand what that weird undertone in Draco’s voice was, but as of right now, his brain was swimming in too much alcohol to manage that task.

‘Shame.’

‘Why? You’d like me to be into you? For what?’

‘I don’t know. I’ve started analysing my sexuality ever since you asked me and I’m growing curious.’ WHY on Earth would he say that?! Even drunk Harry thought it was a bad idea.

‘That happened ten minutes ago, Potter. So you’ve been bi-curious for ten minutes and now all of a sudden you’re into me?’

‘Never said I was.’ He took another swig of whisky.

‘It sure sounds like it.’ Draco emptied the bottle. ‘But if you’re curious, there you go.’

The world was a whirlwind. Malfoy’s lips were on his, he was being pressed into the other man’s body, his own hands running through Malfoy’s hair. It felt like silk, Harry thought vaguely, before he felt Draco’s lips move down onto his neck, sucking at his pulse point. Harry threw back his head and moaned. It seemed to break whatever spell they’ve fallen under, because suddenly there was a cold breeze pricking Harry’s neck and Draco was sitting opposite him again.

‘It sure sounded like you’re into guys, Potter.’ Malfoy smirked and raised his eyebrow. Was he somehow sober right now?

‘Or just into twinks…’ Harry couldn’t manage a serious response right now.

‘Will you stop with this twink thing?! I’m not a twink!’

‘Tell yourself whatever you want. But yes, that was somehow helpful.’

‘Don’t get used to it, I was doing you a favour.’

‘Appreciated.’ With that, Harry slid off the windowsill and left Malfoy alone. He needed to do some thinking on his own.

***

This was entirely Ron’s fault, Harry decided around 6 in the morning. If it wasn’t for Ron and his stupid hunch that Malfoy was somehow involved in the swindle, Malfoy wouldn’t be living with him right now and Harry would be happily straight and not… whatever his sexual orientation was right now. _What_ was it anyway? He has slept with women, that much would imply he’s not entirely gay. But then again, that kiss proved that he was into blokes as well. _So far it’s only proven you’re into Malfoy…_ \- no, not that voice again! He was in no shape to talk to himself right now, he needed to get rid of that voice immediately. Ok, breathe in, breathe out, focus. You’re into women and Malfoy, that much is safe to assume. But what about other guys? Harry tried to imagine his other friends in this particular scenario. Neville, Seamus, Dean, Ron… Oh God, not Ron! No, definitely nothing.

But thinking of Ron, in whatever way, only reinforced Harry’s belief that it was completely his best friend’s fault that he was lying there, awake, dissecting his own sexual preferences, when there was no need for it. And that made him angry – at himself, at Ron, at Malfoy somehow. How many more bloody sleepless nights was he going to have until this whole ordeal was over? He sighed and got up. Anger was still bubbling in him, but there was nothing he could think of that would help. He was still tipsy from all the whisky, so he decided to go make himself a cup of coffee to hopefully sober up and figure this out.

Upon entering the living room he saw that Malfoy was already (or still?) up, but he decided the best course of action was to ignore him – he didn’t want to say anything about last night and he sure as hell didn’t want anything else to happen between them right now. He made himself a cup of black coffee, threw four teaspoons of sugar in it and took a sip. It was atrocious – since when did he drink black coffee anyway? And since when did he use sugar at all? Somehow, irrationally, his anger at Malfoy grew. Before he could figure out where it came from, however, or before he even sobered up enough to address the question, there was a metallic jiggle at the door and Ron came into the apartment.

‘Do you _have_ to use your keys every time?’ Harry spat. ‘I gave you those for emergencies, not so you can waltz in here like you own the place!’ It was safe to assume he was still angry at the redhead, for whatever reason.

‘What’s gotten into you first thing in the morning?’ Ron looked taken aback, but it did nothing to ease Harry’s anger at him.

‘Actually, you.’

‘Me? What did I do?’

‘You’ve put me in an impossible situation! I’m locked in here with Malfoy, I’m going stir crazy! I can’t fucking sleep because of it and now apparently I’m drunk at 7 a.m.!’

‘How is your drinking habit my fault?’ Ron didn’t seem to understand what was going on.

‘Well, if you can’t sleep, which you caused with your stupid hunch, you have to do something, don’t you?’

‘Your drinking aside, how did I cause this? It was Shacklebolt who stuck you in here with this git.’

‘Watch yourself, Weasley!’ Draco decided to join the conversation.

‘Sod off, Malfoy.’ Harry was too angry to even try and be polite. ‘And Ron, this is _entirely_ your fault. If you haven’t come up with this ridiculous idea that he’s involved, Shacklebolt would’ve never decided to place him on house arrest and we wouldn’t be stuck here. Are you doing anything with the case anyway? It’s been ages!’

‘We’re waiting for any incidents to pop up, as per _your_ suggestion, but so far there’s nothing. And how exactly did you arrive at the conclusion that Shacklebolt’s asinine idea was because of my hunch? He could’ve just as easily sent him off to Azkaban.’

‘He couldn’t and you know it. You should’ve foreseen this. It’s called _logical thinking_.’

‘You’re crossing the line here, mate…’ Ron’s voice sounded a little threatening. ‘Anyway, I wanted to come here and tell you we took the ‘magic in front of a Muggle’ cases from the police and we’re monitoring this ourselves, and now that I’ve done it, I’m leaving.’

‘Brilliant, but next time just owl me, that way I don’t have to talk to you.’

When Ron was gone, Draco looked at Harry.

‘Look at you being all _logical_. I’m rubbing off on you?’ He smirked.

‘Once again: sod off, Malfoy.’ Harry was in no mood to talk to Draco right now, so he slammed the empty coffee cup on the counter and stormed off to take a shower.

***

His definitely-less-than-pleasant conversation with Harry was still weighing on his mind, so Ron decided to walk to work. He could’ve easily apparated straight into the office, he got those kinds of privileges years ago, but he needed to clear his head, and besides the case seemed to have been stagnant for now, so it wasn’t like he was needed there.

How in Merlin’s name was Harry going stir crazy (and drinking!) his fault anyway? Contrary to what his best friend said, there was no logic behind this particular chain of events. The fact that Malfoy was stuck there by Shacklebolt was in no way caused by Ron. He even suggested sending the git into Azkaban! And it’s not his fault that Shacklebolt chose Harry over him – he does have a wife and a kid at home, so keeping a drug-addicted ex-Death Eater there would be entirely irresponsible. Even Hermione agreed with him when he told her the story. And she said that maybe living with Malfoy for a while would give Harry a chance to shake off whatever happened last year between the two of them. And it seemed like it worked, all right, because Harry was _certainly_ not nearly as catatonic as he was all this time. In fact, he was the complete opposite. So maybe his ‘healing process’ went a little too far? He sighed. He really needed to talk this over with Hermione, she was the only one that had a chance of solving this one. He sent a quick patronus message to the office saying he’ll be at home and to get him if he was needed and apparated to Oxford.

‘Hi, Ron! Why are you home? Weren’t you supposed to be in the office?’ Hermione was reading the _Daily Prophet_ over a cup of coffee.

‘I was, but I popped over to Harry’s on the way and he’s acting weird…’ He plopped down on a chair beside his wife. ‘I’m starting to get worried.’

‘You mean _weirder than before_?’

‘Yeah. He started out by yelling at me for using the keys he gave us. He said I was acting like I owned his house or something. And then he admitted he’s been drinking and said it was my fault…’

‘Your fault? How exactly?’

‘Well, he claims that my idea that Malfoy’s implicated in the case is why he’s stuck with him.’

‘Well, to be honest, it _is_ true if you think about it…’ Noticing Ron’s expression she quickly added: ‘But that doesn’t mean it’s your fault that he’s feeling some type of way about it! And drinking because of it!’

‘Honestly, that’s what I’m worried about. You know how you said that maybe being stuck with Malfoy will give him a chance to heal? Well, I think the healing went too far…’

‘What are you saying?’

‘When I was there last time, Harry has recruited Malfoy to help him with the case. They seemed to be, I don’t know, friendly? And now he’s pissed at me for having to live with him, and from what I can tell he’s equally pissed at Malfoy…’

‘Something must have happened. But what?’

‘I have no idea. There is a lot of _somethings_ happening lately between Harry and Malfoy, I’ve noticed…’

***

Back in London, Draco was still spread over Harry’s couch, lost in thought. He knew he went too far for his own good last night, but he never expected this sort of behaviour from Potter, not after his immediate reaction. True, they were both drunk, but that has never stood in a way of honesty when it came to that sort of thing – in fact, it usually helped. So if Potter was okay with what they did last night, why would he do a complete 180 in the morning?

The only logical conclusion Draco was able to reach was that Potter was, on some level, attracted to him, but at the same time he hated him too much to ever actually do anything about it. And that whisky must have dulled down the hatred considerably.

Draco sat up. Why were there tears in his eyes all of a sudden? It was stupid. All this was, was a wasted chance at some (possibly pretty good) sex – and that was nothing to cry over. And just yesterday he was not going to let it happen anyway, so what’s the difference? It was all for the better, really, he needed the lust to cover up the loneliness, so the fact that Potter didn’t want him would only do him good. So why exactly did this realization make him cold all of a sudden? To his horror, Draco realized that there was, once again, only one word that came to mind: _alone._ This rejection proved to him once and for all that there was nobody that would be there for him. The lust wasn’t masking the loneliness anymore, Potter single-handedly managed to make morph them into a tiny little sadistic tandem festering inside Draco’s brain, waiting for a chance to strike again and again and again when he was starting to feel down on himself.

Draco knew that there was a way out of this – he almost tried it once before, and he could just as well try now. But something was stopping him – something lurking on the outskirts of his memory, too far away to grasp it, but definitely there. He knew that he couldn’t reach for that razor again, that it would be a wrong thing to do. That somehow, for some unidentifiable reason, it was better to just ignore Potter completely and wait for this whole thing to pass.

It was only when he lit a cigarette that the memory jumped out at him – Potter’s hand on his wrist, the two of them frozen solid in time and space over the coffee table, and Potter’s words: _You? I don’t know, maybe nothing. Me? A lot._


	7. How do you prosecute a prosecutor?

Regardless of the fact that Harry Potter was now apparently both the reason (well, one of the reasons) for Draco’s failed suicide attempt, as well as the reason for him not to try it again, Draco was firm on ignoring Potter for the sake of his own (incredibly fragile, it appeared) mental stability. On his part, Harry didn’t look like he was too keen on even making conversation either.

And so it seemed, that they were back to where they started from – Harry waking up in the morning, entering the living room in complete silence, and Draco getting up from the couch without a word and moving into Potter’s bedroom to sleep.

But this time, it was Harry who was battling sleepless nights. The longer they went on ignoring each other, the less Harry was confused with his own sexuality and with the fact that he was now apparently developing a crush on Malfoy – because that was the conclusion he reached some week into their spat – and the more he felt rejected and alone. Malfoy didn’t want him, he said so himself, and even if Harry hoped, on some level, that he didn’t mean it, his insistence to not even utter a single word towards Harry proved that that hope was way too far-fetched. So Harry closed off again, surrounding himself with a thick wall of stubborn grief over something he never had (it felt almost the same as over a year ago, when he thought Draco was dead), admiring the blonde from far away, like a treasure he would never be able to even come close to, let alone actually have. He would be fine with it, really, if it wasn’t for the memory of their one and only kiss that felt like a thorn in his side, burning and digging deeper and deeper into his body and soul any time he tried to take a breath. That one kiss was all Harry’s own brain needed to have to torture him endlessly, night after night, when he laid there, on his bed, staring at the ceiling, desperately trying to block the faint scent of who was there before him, from causing him to cry. He was over it all at this point: he cried, he drank, he briefly contemplated killing himself, but decided it wasn’t wort it – not for his sake, but for Draco’s, because if he was to be found dead in an apartment the two of them shared, Draco would have no way to prove it was a suicide. No, he needed to do something, anything, to break out of this, because if he was going to go on like this, nothing good could come out of it.

The universe for once sent him a small smile the next day, when he found a roll of parchment on the kitchen counter in the morning.

‘Something came for you an hour ago.’ Draco didn’t even look at him, but those the first words he spoke in nearly two weeks and Harry felt a pure, warm sensation spreading through him. He unrolled the parchment and gasped.

‘We did it!’ He exclaimed excitedly.

‘Who did what, Potter?’ Draco was looking at him with a mixture of curiosity and a slight bit of annoyance – Harry knew he never liked pointless exclamations.

‘The case! Ron found the snatchers, they’re going to be interrogated today!’ Suddenly, he noticed Draco turned completely white. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing, it’s just… I’m kind of freaking out right now.’

‘Why? You said you had nothing to do with this. Did you lie to me?’

‘No, I didn’t. I really am innocent this time around, but what if they say I was a part of it? Fuck, I was so focused on actually finding the guys that I never even considered what they might actually do. Or say.’

‘And what would they gain from implicating you? They have no interest in this.’

‘I don’t know! What if they say it was my idea?’ Draco was shaking now.

‘That won’t change any of their charges though. So they can’t gain anything and the risk is not worth it. No, I doubt they would do it. But if it makes you feel any better, I’ll be there during the questioning.’

‘And how exactly are you going to accomplish that? You’re stuck here with me until I give my deposition, they won’t let you leave me alone. And besides, Weasley will not even consider you questioning these snatchers, he thinks I messed with your head and he’ll think you’ll do anything to protect me.’

‘Don’t worry about Ron, I’ll handle him. And as for me being stuck here – well, we just have to make sure you give your side of the story before they do. Once we have your testimony, I’m free to leave you here.’

‘How? You said it yourself, their depositions are today. How are you going to get mine before then?’

‘There is a lot of time between now and 4 p.m., Draco. Go get a shower and I’ll message Ron and Shacklebolt. We’re doing this.’

***

It was almost midday when Harry, after getting a reluctant ‘go ahead’ from Ron and a considerably more enthusiastic one from the Minister himself, finally forced Draco to get off the couch and put on some mostly-appropriate clothes – they’ve both been living in sweatpants almost the entire time they were quarantined off in Harry’s apartment, and Draco didn’t exactly bring any luggage with him, so, having to improvise, they landed on an all-black (‘because what other colour would Draco Malfoy wear?’ Harry thought and chuckled) outfit comprising of jeans, a t-shirt and a leather jacket. Draco tried to protest, saying this was entirely inappropriate for the situation, but Harry knew he was just stalling. He fixed the size of the clothes (since they were his own, they were way too short and way too wide on their own), grabbed the blonde’s wrist and apparated them straight into his office.

Both Ron and Kingsley were already there – Ron looked like he was already regretting his decision to let Harry switch the order of the interrogations at the last minute, but the Minister was seemingly just happy to put the case to a close finally. He cleared his throat sitting behind Harry’s desk (now uncharacteristically clean, since all the paperwork was currently cluttering every surface in Harry’s apartment) and gestured them to sit down.

‘So, Mr. Potter, you’ve requested a _change of plans_ of sorts, why is that?’ He didn’t sound unpleasant really, but Harry knew that starting with this might mean one of two things – either he was just simply curious, or he was sharing Ron’s suspicion that something was off.

‘Well, Minister, frankly speaking, I want to be here when the snatchers are interrogated and I can’t do that if Malfoy is not questioned before.’

‘And why would the timing of Mr. Malfoy’s questioning change anything? Not that I object to the idea, frankly, it makes no difference to me, but I’m just curious as to what motivates you right now.’

‘You said so yourself, Minister, I have to keep an eye on him until he gives us his side of the story.’

‘I never said this, Mr. Potter. I said that you have to ‘keep an eye’ on Mr. Malfoy until his involvement in the case, or lack thereof, is conclusively determined. That, in turn, means, that regardless of the order of interrogations, Mr. Malfoy is to be watched over until all the depositions are collected.’ Harry turned white. So they weren’t going to let him listen to the snatchers’ testimonies!

‘Oh, I must have misunderstood, Minister. I’m sorry. I guess it makes no difference then, so I might as well take the request back…’

‘We’ve already amended the agenda for today, Mr. Potter, so we will be proceeding according to the one that includes your request.’

‘Oh, well, ok. So I’ll escort Malfoy down to the courtroom, we’ll get this done, and we’ll go back to my place to wait for the rest to be dealt with. Can either of you message me when the other depositions are done at least?’ Harry gave up. There was no way they were going to let him take part in the other depositions.

‘No, Mr. Potter.’ That was taking it way too far, Harry thought but bit his tongue. ‘Since you’re clearly interested in hearing what the suspects have to say – and I don’t mean that in a negative way, it’s completely understandable – I think the best course of action would be to allow you to take part in all the hearings. Now, seeing that the circumstances are, well, _unusual_ , with Mr. Malfoy temporarily being your roommate, I don’t think it would be appropriate for you to actually question him, but you will be allowed to observe the process. As for the other suspects, I don’t see any reason why your role should be reduced compared to how this things normally go, so you will be able to be there and ask questions, while we place Mr. Malfoy under some other arrangement for a couple of hours.’ Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t even think of the logistics of the whole operation, but that was clearly what Ron had in mind when he spoke.

‘What _other arrangements_ are you talking about, Minister?’

‘Well, I happen to be, in my humble opinion, a rather smart man, Mr. Weasley, so I pretty much figured on my own, why Mr. Potter requested this switch, and made some moves towards making it possible. It just so happens that your own wife, Mr. Weasley, has luckily come back to work, as you obviously know, and volunteered to serve as a, if you forgive my expression, _surveillance officer_ for Mr. Malfoy for the duration of the other hearings.’

‘What?!’ Ron was shaking his head. ‘No, there is NO way I’m agreeing to this! She can’t be locked up somewhere with this lunatic!’

‘Are you questioning your own wife’s judgement of her abilities, Mr. Weasley?’ Kingsley was clearly expecting this reaction from Ron. ‘I would’ve thought you’d be a more supportive husband than that… And I didn’t hear you protest when I placed Mr. Malfoy in Mr. Potter’s apartment. Are you trying to tell me that not only does Mrs. Granger overestimate her own capabilities of defending herself, against a person who, as far as I know, has no wand, but also that said capabilities of hers are that much below Mr. Potter’s level of expertise in your opinion? Well, if I were you, I would expect a stern talking to from your wife tonight – she’s not going to be happy when I tell her we’re going a different route with this whole affair, because her own husband protested violently.’

‘Well, if you put it like that…’ Ron was clearly not happy, but he didn’t say anything. Harry and Draco exchanged amused looks – if anything was stronger than Ron’s stubbornness, it was his fear of Hermione’s wrath.

***

It was nearing 2 o’clock in the afternoon when Harry, Ron and Draco were standing in front of the impressive black doors to the room where the Wizengamot was set to question all of the suspects in the case. Harry wasn’t sure which one of them was more nervous – him or Malfoy. He felt sick to his stomach, although he had no idea why that would be the case if he was not the one being questioned. On the other hand, Draco was looking like a corpse – impossibly pale and completely stiff.

‘I can’t do this, Potter… I can’t. Just lock me up and don’t make me go there.’

‘You can do this, and you will. You have to. Besides, at least you know how this things go, you’ve seen it first-hand.’

‘This is _exactly_ why I can’t do this! All I can think of right now is the trials after the war!’

‘It’s nothing like that one, you know it. Treat it like a witness’s testimony – that’s essentially why you’re here, you’ve done nothing wrong.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t be so sure about it, Harry…’ Ron scoffed.

‘Will you stop this, please? You’re not helping!’ Harry was, once again, quickly getting angry at his best friend.

‘I’m not an emotional support here, Harry, and neither are you. Although you seem to have forgotten that. We’re the ones prosecuting this case and so far you’ve only managed to convince me that you think your own suspect is innocent.’

‘YOUR suspect, Ron. Not mine. That part of it is YOUR case and YOU are the one prosecuting this. I want no part of that. The rest of them? Bring them on, but as far as Draco goes, you’re on your own, mate.’

‘Oh, so you’re on first-name basis now? This is getting interesting…’ Ron had way too much of a sly expression for his face now for Harry’s taste. He felt the sudden urge to punch him.

‘Don’t you dare use this…’ Harry was trying with all his might to not scream at him right now.

‘Didn’t even plan to. Although, now, that you gave me the idea…’ He didn’t finish that thought however, because the doors opened and a tiny wizard, that reminded Harry very much of Professor Flitwick, gestured for them to come inside. Harry gave Ron one last threatening look and sat down on the gallery while Ron took the prosecutorial stand. Draco sat on the chair in front of the high podium where the Minister for Magic was presiding over the proceedings, surrounded by about a dozen other witches and wizards. Ron’s pulpit was directly between them and Draco.

‘The matter at hand today is the case held by the Auror Office, represented by Auror Ronald Bilius Weasley, versus Draco Lucius Malfoy.’ Kingsley started ‘Am I correct that the accused, to be questioned right now, is Draco Lucius Malfoy, son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, age 20, born June 5th 1980?

‘Yes, Minister.’ Ron confirmed.

‘And, Mr. Weasley, it is my understanding that you have not managed to present the Court with a conclusive proof of the suspect’s identity, in a form of a wand?’

‘I haven’t, Minister.’

‘I see. How did you identify the person here with us today as Mr. Draco Malfoy then?’

‘I’ve known him for almost 10 years now, Minister, so I am sure it is him.’

‘Do you confirm that you are in fact the person who is set to be questioned today?’ Shacklebolt addressed Draco.

‘Yes, I do.’

‘Well, then, without a wand that’s as much as we’re able to do. I must say, Mr. Malfoy, your situation presents quite the conundrum to the Wizengamot…’ He paused briefly and then addressed the rest of the witches and wizards ‘Distinguished judges, I feel I need to inform you of some very unusual circumstances in this case. As you know, Mr. Malfoy had been presumed dead some 18 months ago, on the basis of the words of Mr. Harry Potter, who just so happens to be Mr. Weasley’s partner in the Auror Office, and a would-be second prosecutorial representative in this trial. Now, I say ’would-be’ because the issue of Mr. Malfoy theoretically being dead is not the only problem in this case – given that Mr. Malfoy had no permanent residence of any sort, and at the time of his capture, as done by Mr. Weasley, the rest of the suspects were yet to be found, I had to place Mr. Malfoy on house arrest, to avoid him vanishing again, and what is more, I have decided that such house arrest would be held in Mr. Potter’s apartment. As the matters now stand, Mr. Malfoy has been living with Mr. Potter for quite some time now, so it seemed only appropriate, in my opinion, that Mr. Potter would be prohibited from questioning Mr. Malfoy. I do not find, however, any grounds for such prohibition in regards to the rest of the suspects. Now, do any of the distinguished judges have any objections to this decision?’ Nobody said anything. ‘Fine then, I find that Mr. Potter will resume his prosecutorial duties after this hearing is over. Are there any motions?’ This time, a rather sour-looking witch in the second row raised her hand. ‘Madame Kessley, yes, what’s the motion?’

‘Minister, distinguished judges…’ She began, and Harry had a sudden premonition that he was not going to like it. ‘On the basis of what we’ve all just been told, I move to question Mr. Potter as a witness in this case before we move on to Mr. Malfoy.’ There was complete silence. Ron looked shocked – not even he was expecting this.

‘On what grounds?’ Kingsley was sceptical.

‘To determine the nature of the relationship between the accused and the prosecution. After all, we do not know how much of Mr. Malfoy’s knowledge of the case would be his own, and how much would come from Mr. Potter, so we cannot accurately judge the validity of Mr. Malfoy’s testimony.’

‘If there was no objection to allow Mr. Potter to question the remaining suspects in the case, we will have to check what the bylaws state on the matter of questioning prosecution’s representative.’ Shacklebolt said hesitantly. ‘This is a highly unusual situation and I am not completely sure if Mr. Potter’s appearance in this case as a witness would not prohibit him from acting as a prosecutor.’

‘As per Wizengamot Operation Decree – Amendment 23-101-A, prosecutor may be questioned as a witness in the case so long as he does not possess knowledge of any other testimonies given in front of the Wizengamot.’ The same small wizard that reminded Harry of Flitwick said. Harry was quickly growing to dislike him. ‘And so, as long as Mr. Potter is the first witness we hear, he can resume his normal role later on.’

‘Thank you, Mr. Shush.’ Kingsley said. ‘If that’s the case, which of the distinguished judges are in favour of granting the motion?’ Several hands were now raised in the air. Harry couldn’t count if it was over half or not, but Kingsley was already tallying up the vote. ‘The motion passes. Mr. Potter, will you please take the witness stand? And Mr. Malfoy, you will be escorted out for the time being.’

Draco gave Harry a small, barely visible, smile when they passed each other and Harry sat in the witness chair. His mind was completely blank, he was cold and panicking. He saw that Ron was white as a sheet, but otherwise he seemed determined. Harry didn’t know if he liked the look on his face.

‘Madame Kessley, the motion was yours, why don’t you start asking the questions?’ Kingsley’s deep voice brought Harry back a little.

‘Thank you, Minister. Mr. Potter, let’s start from the beginning. 18 months ago you informed the wizarding community that Draco Malfoy killed himself. Why is that?’

‘Well… I don’t really know what to start with, it’s a complicated story…’ Harry was stuttering. How much did he actually have to tell them? He sighed. ‘I’m sorry, I’m nervous. I wasn’t really expecting to be questioned today. Ok, so a little before I told everyone Dr- Malfoy was dead, we actually met in Muggle London. Not on purpose, we just ran into each other. We talked, it wasn’t entirely pleasant, to say the least, and about 2 weeks later I got an owl from him that said ‘I decided to go’ or something like that. I knew he wasn’t really doing that good there and that he felt like there was no place for him here, so my conclusion was that he killed himself.’

‘And why did Mr. Malfoy send you that owl?’

‘I have no idea. I thought at the time that maybe he wanted me to know he killed himself because I caused this.’

‘And why would you be responsible for Mr. Malfoy’s presumed suicide?’

‘I don’t know…’ He was stalling. This was the question he didn’t want to answer. ‘I’m not exactly sure what my thought process was back then. Well, no, actually, I know what it was, but looking back on it, it makes no sense. You see, I assumed that if he was living there for some time and he didn’t kill himself, and then he ran into me and we had an argument, that would be the reason why. Because I had no other information about his life, other than what I knew from the time we met there, and that conversation wasn’t exactly friendly. We have a history of hating each other after all, that’s public knowledge.’

‘And where is that _history_ now?’

‘I don’t understand the question…’ He did, but he needed time to compose himself.

‘Do you and Mr. Malfoy hate each other now? What’s the nature of your relationship?’

‘There is no relationship.’ Harry was desperately trying to not turn red at the mention of _relationship_. ‘I mean, we don’t hate each other anymore, at least I don’t hate him, but we’re not friends. We just act civil around each other, but mostly we’ve been ignoring each other as much as possible.’

‘So you don’t talk to Mr. Malfoy at all? Even when you live together?’

‘I wouldn’t call it ‘living together’, honestly. We’re just stuck in my apartment for the time being. But anyway, we talked a couple of times, but nothing extensive or deep.’

‘And what did you talk about?’

‘I don’t know, I don’t remember. It wasn’t important enough.’ That was a blatant lie and Harry was just hoping that nobody would catch on.

‘Did you talk about this case?’

‘Yes.’

‘To what extent?’

‘All of it. I work from home now, so all the paperwork is there. Draco’s actually been helping us, well, me, figure it out.’

‘And why would you do that?’

‘Because I couldn’t seem to crack it on my own. I figured if he was a part of this the sooner we catch the rest of the group, the sooner they will identify him, so he really wasn’t doing himself any favours there. And if he was innocent, well, the faster we solve the case, the better.’

‘And you were sure he was innocent?’

‘I was. I still am. He made a pretty convincing case for himself. And the fact that we managed to catch the rest of the group, which I’m sure is guilty, with his help, only makes me believe it more.’

‘Interesting, Mr. Potter… I’ve been a part of this court for several years now and I have never heard an Auror say he believes his own suspect is innocent.’

‘As far as I’m concerned, Malfoy should be a witness, not a suspect. This whole thing was Ron’s idea, he’s the one that’s hellbent on sending him to Azkaban for whatever reason.’ Harry felt his whole blood drain from his body. He should’ve never said this, he knew it the moment he saw Ron’s expression, but it was too late.

‘If I may, Minister…’ Ron looked furious ‘…you claim, Potter, that you’re not friends with Malfoy. So how exactly did the subject of this case come up in your, supposedly nearly non-existent, conversations?’

‘I already answered that question. I was having problems with it, it wasn’t moving forward like I wanted it to, so I decided I needed someone to bounce ideas off of.’

‘That’s not what I asked. I asked how did you, let’s say, _approach the subject_?’

‘I’m not sure I understand.’

‘Did you for instance just ask Malfoy one night for help?’

‘Not entirely.’ Harry was sweating. ‘I was just annoyed with the case one day and I was taking it out on him, so he got irritated himself and asked how much longer were we going to be stuck together. So I told him that I don’t know, and that me being on what the Minister called _home office_ didn’t help because I didn’t even have anyone to talk to about the case.’

‘But you had someone, you could always come to me.’

‘It didn’t occur to me for some reason.’

‘It didn’t occur to you to come to your own partner to discuss your _joined_ case, but it did occur to you to turn to a suspect in this case for help?’

‘I don’t know, it’s just how it turned out.’

‘That’s a very weird coincidence… And tell me, when did that happen?’

‘I don’t remember.’

‘I’m not asking for a date. Was it at the beginning of you two living together or later?’

‘Later.’

‘And it didn’t seem suspicious to you that he would be interested in the case after some time?’

‘No.’

‘Why?’

‘It just didn’t.’

‘Really? Because it sure seems like a very _convenient_ coincidence…’

‘I’m not sure I know what you’re getting at.’

‘Tell me, in days prior to you talking about the case with Malfoy, what were you two doing?’

‘Nothing special. Eating, sleeping, mostly ignoring each other.’

‘And where did each of you sleep?’

‘In my bed.’

‘ _Both_ of you?’

‘What are you getting at? You’re trying to tell me I slept with a suspect on the case?!’ Harry was losing all his composure right now.

‘You said it, not me.’

‘For your information, I did NOT sleep with Malfoy.’

‘So you say. Are you gay?’

‘No, I’m not. And just to make sure we understand each other right now: I was sleeping at night, alone, and when I woke up, he would go to my bedroom and sleep.’

‘Convenient…’

‘Gentlemen, I think that’s quite enough for now.’ Kingsley’s voice brought Harry back to Earth. ‘Mr. Potter, you’re excused. You’re free to remain in the courtroom, but you’re reminded you’re not allowed to ask any questions for now. Do we understand each other?’

‘We do, Minister. I’m sorry for my outburst.’

‘I think we might all benefit from a 10-minute recess. The case will be recalled.’

The judges stood up and retired to a small chamber next door. Harry knew it was a custom for them not to wait with the sides of the case in the corridor, so it was going to just be him, Ron, Draco, and whoever was assigned to watch over Malfoy, there. Harry stood up. He was still seeing white and he needed to get out of that room as soon as possible, before he would do something really, really stupid, like punch Ron in the face. He opened the door and all the fury left him in an instant, as soon as he saw Draco standing there, white as a sheet and clearly terrified. Harry realized he must have heard all the screaming at the end of his deposition. In a blink of an eye, Harry went from absolutely livid to horrified. He knew his outburst at Ron might have just sealed Draco’s fate – nobody was going to believe them now that Ron got it in the judges’ heads that there was something between them.

‘I fucked up, Draco, I fucked up big time…’ He whispered. He couldn’t even bring himself to look at the man. ‘I’m so sorry…’ He was bracing himself for tears, when suddenly he felt he was being wrapped in Draco’s arms, pressed into his chest.

Neither of them registered Ron’s sneer that came from behind Harry’s back.

***

20 minutes later, Draco was almost done retelling the whole story of how him and Harry cracked the case and how Harry came to a conclusion that Draco wasn’t in fact a part of the ring, when he glanced at Weasley and his heart nearly stopped. He knew he was in trouble the second he saw Ron’s face twist into something that might at some point have been a smile, but it was too full of disgust and hatred to be classified as such. Barely scrambling any coherent thought he finished his testimony and tried to brace himself for what would inevitably be an attack from Weasley.

‘I just have one question.’ Draco definitely didn’t like the sound of it. ‘Did you, or did you not, hug Potter the moment he stepped out of this courtroom?’

Draco’s throat closed up. He couldn’t even force himself to look at any of the people in the room. He dropped his head and managed to utter only ‘I did.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I have elected to take a few creative liberties on the procedure in front of Wizengamot (I hope those don't bother you too much) - in case you wondered, it's based on real-life systems where those who investigate are the ones to prosecute the case (and so ask questions during the cas etc.).  
> Anyway, do let me know if it makes sense to you (if it doesn't - I'll try to clarify).


	8. How do you deal with fuckups of epic proportions?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The trial part 2! And the aftermath of the trial :)  
> Things happen, elf wine is involved and well... smut ensues.

He’s been locked in Weasley’s and Potter’s office with Granger for two hours now and he still couldn’t manage to say a single word to her. He knew he was going to Azkaban, nobody in their right mind would believe in his innocence after what happened. Not only did Harry lose his temper on Weasley at the end of his hearing (even though Draco hadn’t heard everything, the faint sound of _I did NOT sleep with Malfoy_ was enough to figure out what happened there), but also Draco managed to fuck up his own questioning rather spectacularly with just two words.

Suddenly Draco realized that he’d been so preoccupied with his own fate that he completely ignored the fact that this whole case would mean at least charges on gross procedural misconduct for Harry. Fuck, this couldn’t possibly go any worse! If he gets demoted to some measly assistant because of Draco there is no way he would be able to live with himself.

‘Granger…?’ His voice was almost a whisper. He was afraid to even ask this question, but he needed to know. ‘What’s going to happen to Harry when I get convicted?’

‘What do you mean? Was Ron right, is there something between you two? He went completely off the rails last year, but that was when he thought you died, so I don’t know if conviction would end up doing the same to him…’

‘No, that’s not what I’m asking. If I get convicted, all of them are going to think he tried to help me. So what happens with his career?’

‘I don’t know. It would be a gross misconduct at best, sabotaging and conspiring at worst.’

‘Conspiring? Jesus…’ Draco felt like he was going to faint.

‘Well, yes. He did get you involved in his work while you were a suspect, so that might be seen as conspiring – depending on how you look at it of course.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Conspiring is contingent on intent. That means that if the Wizengamot finds that he did this TO protect you, at least in part, he would be found guilty of sabotaging and conspiring and that would most likely lose him the job.’

‘And what if they don’t find the intent in there?’ Draco didn’t want to even think about Harry getting fired because of him.

‘That’s just gross misconduct. That ranges from reprimand, to pay cuts, to demoting or having to work under a supervisor. If I was judging this, I’d go for the supervisor probably…’

‘But why? He didn’t do anything!’

‘He did. He never should’ve talked to you about this case. Why did he anyway? Was Ron right? You never answered.’

‘There is nothing between us.’

The room was silent once again. Draco was having trouble breathing from all the stress, his vision went blurry and there was an incessant voice in his head that told him over and over again _You caused this. You’re going to cost him his job. His reputation is ruined because of you. You’ve managed to pull him down to your level. You’re worthless…_ Draco thought he was going to pass out. There was no way out of this, there was no way he could fix this. He always thought he would be able to rise to a challenge in a time of a crisis, but this was a fuckup of utterly epic proportions and he had no idea how to handle it, short for reaching for the razor again. But this was not an option right now, at least not with Granger sitting there looking at him. He was just starting to think that maybe if he somehow got hold of her wand there would be a chance for him, when the door opened and the small wizard came back again to escort him downstairs to listen to the verdict.

***

So there it was. The one moment in his life he never wanted to live through, the time when he would find out how long he’s going to Azkaban for. Not that it mattered anyway, nothing about him mattered at this point – he would gladly take a life sentence if Harry’s job would be safe in return. He tried looking at Harry, tried to understand what mindset was he in, but all he could find on his face was something similar to anger – but not quite. He thought he has seen the same expression on Harry’s face when he was chasing a snitch during Quidditch matches a lifetime ago. So Draco looked around. The three actual snatchers were there with him, looking solemn, like they knew their fate already. Weasley was looking like he was expecting to be declared a winner of some great tournament and like there was no way he would lose this.

There was a sudden rumble and everyone stood up. Draco realized that the verdict was going to be announced.

‘In the matter of accused Scherback, Windsor Arthur…’ Minister’s voice was grave and serious. ‘…the verdict is: guilty. Sentenced to 10 years in Azkaban prison. In the matter of Drapel, Maurice Joyce - the verdict is: guilty. Sentenced to 10 years in Azkaban prison. In the matter of Knight, Peter Hover - the verdict is: guilty. Sentenced to 10 years in Azkaban prison.’ There was a pause. ‘Before I announce the verdict in the matter of Mr. Malfoy, I need to say a few things. Please escort the sentenced parties out.’ Once Draco was the only one left, Shacklebolt ordered him to sit down.

‘Now, I do realize, Mr. Malfoy, that you are probably quite anxious right now…’ The Minister spoke again ‘but I do need to address a few issues before receiving a verdict has clouded your, or the prosecution’s, judgements. Mr. Potter, let me start with you. What you did during this case was at best irresponsible. It might even fall under gross misconduct. I want you to know that I will be filing a report with the Chief of the Auror Office and urging him to take appropriate action against you – you _never_ let a suspect in the case get involved like that, no matter your personal relationship with them. Now, Mr. Weasley, what you presented in this courtroom today was entirely inappropriate and out of place. Not only did you try to convince us that Mr. Potter had some sort of physical relationship with Mr. Malfoy, but also you used your own personal relationships with both of them to push your narrative. Not to mention that said behaviour caused you to draw conclusions from the facts that you obtained outside your job and that had no standing in the case. And, if I were in Mr. Potter’s position right now, I would carefully reconsider the stance of my friendship with you. Frankly, the only person who behaved rationally and appropriately during this case, was the suspect himself, Mr. Malfoy.’ Ron looked white as a sheet, completely shocked. ‘And now, for the verdict itself: in the matter of Malfoy, Draco Lucius – the verdict is: innocent. You’re cleared of all charges, Mr. Malfoy.’

Draco could swear that over the groan of Weasley’s disappointment, he could hear Harry’s quiet, satisfied _yes!_ He moved to leave the room, but the Minister’s voice stopped him.

‘Not so fast, Mr. Malfoy. You were declared innocent, but the matter doesn’t exactly end here. Now, it has been brought to my attention during the deliberations, that the issue of your presumed suicide posts several problems. Firstly, you do not currently have a wand and therefore you are, legally speaking, unidentifiable, and we can’t have that. If I recall, your wand, if it’s still intact, should be somewhere in Scotland, right?’ Draco nodded. ‘Well then, since there is only one person, besides you, who knows where that wand might be, it is my order towards Mr. Weasley that he retrieve it and bring it back to you within 14 days.’ Ron looked like he was about to hex the Minister, but Kingsley didn’t seem to notice. ‘Secondly, since you were declared dead, you were removed from all official registries. That matter needs to be resolved by the Census Bureau. If I were you, Mr. Malfoy, I would brace myself for a long wait, they do take their time over there. Now, the only issue that remains is your residence – so long as you are legally dead, you cannot exactly live and travel on your own, I’m sure you understand. Shall Mr. Potter agree, I will reinstate your previous arrangement, albeit with a slight change – you will no longer be placed under house arrest _per se_ , but you will not be permitted to leave your residence alone for any purpose. That would also effectively mean that Mr. Potter would have to remain on _home office_ duties until you are back from the dead, so to say. Now, Mr. Potter, will you agree to such an arrangement?’

‘I’m fine with it, Minister, but I would like to make a request if possible – can I, instead of home office, just take a vacation leave? I think this case proved I shouldn’t be working from home if other people are there.’

‘It does sound reasonable, Mr. Potter. Now, I shouldn’t really be even asking this, since it’s going to be an order, but – Mr. Malfoy, are you willing to comply by this arrangement?’

‘Yes, Minister.’

***

‘Have you seen his _face_? He looked like he was about to blow the whole courtroom up!’ Draco was laughing, for the first time since this whole thing started.

‘I know! You should’ve heard what he was muttering under his breath!’

They were sitting on the living room floor, drinking Firewhisky and celebrating Draco’s acquittal, laughing like maniacs at Ron’s reaction to the verdict.

‘He was sure he had me, didn’t he?’

‘Oh, that he was… When the snatchers said they had no idea who you were I thought he was going to curse them! Oh, that was glorious. Shame you didn’t get to see this, it was comical really. What were you doing for all that time anyway?’

‘Talking to Granger.’ Draco got serious.

‘Come on, like I believe you…’

‘No, seriously.’

‘What about?’

‘You. What would happen to you if they convicted me. I realized that if I’m found guilty, there was no way you would have no problems because of that.’

‘Seriously? You were about to be sent to Azkaban for years for all you knew, and you were worried about me?’

‘Well, what can I say, my brain does weird things sometimes. I think the…’ But he didn’t have a chance to finish this thought.

Suddenly, Draco was on his back on the floor, Harry on top of him, both of them lost in their second kiss. It was hungrier, more desperate than the first one. When Harry’s tongue slid across his neck, Draco pulled away.

‘Are you sure about this?’

‘Yes. Completely. I lied when I said I wasn’t into you.’ Harry smiled.

‘Well, that much is evident now.’ Draco grinned and pinned Harry to the floor and laughed.

They kissed again, slow and deliberate this time, like they were completely in sync, like they’ve been doing this for years and knew exactly what to do. Draco thought vaguely that he was tasting cherries on Harry’s tongue.

‘Potter, how on Earth do you taste like cherries?’ He cocked his head to the side. ‘You’ve been drinking Firewhisky, not some liqueur…’

‘ _That’s_ what you’re focusing on now, Draco?’ He didn’t sound annoyed, more amused rather. ‘I’ve got my secrets, baby…’

‘ _Baby_?’

‘Come on, just shut up and kiss me!’ Harry laughed and pulled Draco’s t-shirt off.

‘Oh, we’re feeling adventurous I see…’ But he lost his train of thought the moment Harry’s tongue touched his skin. ‘Jesus, _fuck…._ ’

All Draco could focus on was the sensation of Harry licking stripes across his chest and stomach. When he felt his jeans and underwear being pulled off, he groaned and fell back. Once again, Harry was on top of him.

‘I like you in black, but you definitely look way hotter naked…’ Harry climbed up, whispering in his ear. Draco felt the weight of the other body pressing him down and thought briefly that he could stay like this forever, just lying there, feeling Harry on him. ‘You want this?’

‘ _Fuck yes…_ ’

The feeling of Harry’s lips closing on him ripped a scream from Draco’s throat. He felt Harry smirking upon hearing him, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore, not even the fact that he was definitely not supposed to do this, because Harry’s tongue was now swirling circles around his head and Draco thought he was going to go insane. Everything was blurry, his heart was beating so fast that he was sure he’s going to have a heart attack if this went on any longer. Like through a fog, he saw Harry’s head bobbing down and all he knew was that he was falling, falling down from somewhere out there, somewhere where Harry got him. He came crashing down when an orgasm ripped through him like a wave of hot, molten metal. He might have moaned something, but he didn’t even register it – his mind was entirely somewhere else, seeing sparks and stars and all the things he thought he would never experience again.

Harry was lying there, on the floor, next to him, his head propped up on his arm, looking down at him. They locked eyes and Draco could swear he has never seen anything nearly as beautiful – he could get lost in these eyes for ever, just being there, and nothing would make him go back to reality. But, just as every good moment in his miserable life, even this had to come to an end when he wasn’t even remotely ready for it. This time, the end came in the form of Weasley opening the door.

‘I…’ Ron looked at the pair, still on the floor, and Draco still very much naked, although in some wave of post-orgasm clarity he threw his t-shirt over his hips so he wasn’t entirely exposed. ‘WHAT THE FUCK?!’

‘It’s not what it looks like!’ Draco knew it was an instinct, it was cliché really, but Harry’s words burned. He was really being stupid if he thought this would mean something, wasn’t he? Not that he did, at least not consciously, but through all the amazing sensations he was going through minutes before he hoped, somewhere deep inside, that maybe, just maybe, something could come out of it. Now he knew there was never even a shred of chance for it, ever, and he was falling again, although this time it had nothing to do with pleasure – this time it was like he was pushed off a roof of one of those tall, Muggle buildings, and at the end of the fall there would be a solid, flat, unforgiving concrete. He heard the door shutting when Weasley left and stood up to go take a shower. He didn’t even want to look at Harry right now, it was too painful.

***

Harry was twirling Draco’s wand, that Ron brought back, between his fingers. The hawthorn still felt good in his hand, still somehow felt like it belonged to him more than it did to Draco, maybe because he never actually won it back, Harry has just given it back to him after the war was over. But then again, it didn’t entirely make sense – he has disarmed dozens of wizards, both at school and during his career, and yet none of the other wands connected to him that way. There was never this feeling of warmth spreading through his fingers, up to his arm, when he was holding any other wand – he didn’t even have to cast any spells to know this was not the same. He never understood why, even though it jumped at him before, but Draco’s want felt almost like his own holly phoenix one – actually closer to it than the Elder Wand did for that brief moment he was using it. But the Elder Wand was different, he told himself, it was one of a kind so maybe the connection just didn’t work the same way as it did with normal ones. He never thought much about it, he was perfectly happy with his own wand, but now that Ron has retrieved Draco’s and brought it back, per Kingsley’s instruction, it struck Harry as odd.

_Ron_. Once again, he has single-handedly managed to fuck things up for Harry. Why did he have to come tonight? It was past midnight already and he has a wife and a child, why would he decide it was a good time to fill Shacklebolt’s instruction? Harry never counted on anything happening between him and Draco, he wasn’t stupid, but if Ron hadn’t decided he needed to bring the wand back tonight, maybe Harry would have a chance to at least make those images, that were coming to his head any time he looked at Draco, a reality, just for one night. But now it was over – Draco was in the shower, clearly already regretting what had happened between them, and Harry knew there would be no other chance. They weren’t going to be living together for much longer, and once Draco was out of his apartment, no matter if he decided to take Harry up on his offer to give him keys to Grimmauld Place, it wasn’t like they were close enough to justify doing anything ever again.

It was no use thinking about it, Harry decided – he made his peace with the fact that whatever he felt for the other man would go unfulfilled for the rest of his life, and tonight shouldn’t change anything. But it stung, like an iron bar in his lungs, to know that Draco didn’t even consider this. Because surely, if he felt even an ounce of what was inside of Harry, he wouldn’t just take up and leave like that, not just because Ron saw them. If he was ashamed of what he had done that meant that there was nothing besides Firewhisky and poor judgement that motivated him.


	9. Where did the cherries come from?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning: explicit sexual content ahead! (well, _again_ , if I'm being honest)

It took almost two weeks being stuck in insufferable silence, avoiding each other, before Draco finally received his paperwork from the Census Bureau one morning.

‘I’m apparently back from the dead, I can move out now.’ He said quietly to Harry.

Truth be told, he didn’t _really_ want to move out. Even if all the unspoken things between them were weighing on Draco like a block of iron, at least he could glance at Harry every so often and pretend he had a chance with him. Once he was gone, there was nothing that would be connecting them anymore, because if Draco knew one thing for sure, it was that, no matter how much he would like for Potter’s offer to still be on the table, there was no chance it would be. Not after what happened between them the night of his acquittal. He sighed. Once again, life has gave him one single second of pure, undisturbed happiness, and snatched it back before he could even try to thaw that solid block of ice that occupied his chest for years now.

‘Where are you going to go?’ Harry asked.

‘I don’t know. They are looking for a night guard at St. Mungo’s so I’ll probably try there for a job and find myself some place to live.’

‘You know you’re way overqualified for a night guard, right?’

‘And way under-desired for anything else…’ Draco said glumly. He knew Harry would take it as a reference to his Dark Mark, although in all honesty that was not all he meant.

‘You don’t know that…’ To Draco’s surprise, Harry smiled slightly, almost bashful.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I told you.’ Harry’s expression was gone in an instant and Draco felt a slight tinge of regret. ‘If you’re still up for it, I can talk to my boss and maybe try to get you a job there. I could use an assistant and you made a good impression on the Minister himself, so this might work out.’

‘I’m thankful, Potter, but I highly doubt it. For one, I’m an ex-Death Eater and my parents are in Azkaban for life – not exactly qualities the Auror Office is looking for, I suppose. And for the other, how do you imagine me working with you if Weasley is your partner?’

‘And once again, _Draco_ , you weren’t convicted and your parents have nothing to do with it. If anything, your perspective could be useful. And on top of that you, on your own practically, cracked the case neither me, nor Ron, had any idea how to solve. The office has been talking about it for weeks, everyone’s impressed with how you did it.’

‘They did?’ Draco felt strangely proud of himself.

‘Of course. How often does a suspect solve his own case better than the Aurors that have a whole institution behind them?’

‘But what about Weasley?’ Draco was still not convinced.

‘Ron will have to deal with it. If he can’t get it through to his head that he was wrong, he is just being an idiot. And frankly, regardless of the fact that he was wrong, I have absolutely zero interest in his input on the situation.’ Harry looked determined.

‘And in simpler English, please?’ Draco understood Harry perfectly, but some part of him wanted to hear it again.

‘What I mean is that even if Ron was right, and we were together, his attitude towards it makes no difference to me. I don’t select people I surround myself with on the basis of what Ron says about them.’

‘That means a lot, actually. Thanks.’

‘No problem, it’s the truth. Now, since we have the job side of it figured out, do you still want my other place? I’m not using it, so it’s up for grabs really. Although I warn you, it’s rather depressing.’

‘Don’t forget where I grew up… But if you’re offering, I’ll take it. Honestly, you’re saving my ass yet again.’

‘Infinitely worth saving.’ Harry laughed and Draco felt some weird warmth pooling at the bottom of his stomach.

‘What?’

‘It’s a quote. From a Muggle TV series.’

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about…’ Draco felt somehow disappointed.

‘I’m not going to explain the concept of television to you, it’s way too much of a story for right now. We’ll have to do it over some alcohol at some point, because it’ll take at least a couple of hours.’ There was that warmth again – did Harry just suggest spending time together AFTER Draco moves out? ‘Anyway, since you’re alive again, I’m going to the office. I’ll talk to the Chief and find out about you being my assistant. Wait here for me?’

‘Sure. I can manage on my own for a couple of hours. Pick up some Firewhisky on the way back? Regardless of the outcome, I’ll be needing a drink.’

Harry nodded and left, and Draco was suddenly feeling weird about how that conversation ended, like there was something _domestic_ about it.

***

Several hours later Harry was sitting in his office, trying to concentrate and get all his paperwork done before his meeting with the Chief of Aurors, but his mind was occupied by thoughts of his talk with Draco that morning.

It wasn’t that he regretted his decision to still help the blonde out with a job and a place to live, not by any means – he decided some time ago that even though there was no chance of the two of them ever having any sort of relationship (thanks to _Ron_ , in part), keeping Draco close to him was somehow a better option than distancing himself from him completely. Sure, it hurt to know they would never be as close as Harry would like - some days it seemed like an unbearably painful burden in fact - but Harry knew that if they were to never see each other again, he would feel the same as when he thought Draco was dead, and he wasn’t willing to go through that again. So he chose this particular version of suffering, just because of those rare moments the two of them smiled at each other or joked, because it felt like he could just about pretend that they were _something_ if he tried hard enough to forget about all the other stuff.

What Harry regretted, however, was that he let his feelings show. He just desperately hoped that Draco wouldn’t figure out his expression when he inadvertently admitted that Draco _was_ desired, and that his slip-up with the quote would go unnoticed – if Draco knew how Harry felt, he would back out of the situation faster than it took to disapparate. He sighed and glanced at the clock – his meeting was due in five minutes, so he left the room without even glancing at Ron sitting at the second desk.

***

An hour later, Harry had an entirely different set of problems on his mind – he presented his proposal of employing Draco Malfoy, as his assistant, to his boss, and he thought it was going well, until the Chief announced that before he could make a decision, he needed to talk to Ron. Harry knew that, since Ron and him were partners, Ron’s opinion of Draco might be a potential issue, but he was hoping the Chief wouldn’t directly involve him in the process. But he did, and now Harry was sitting in his office panicking – with Ron’s attitude there was no way this was going to work out. He was just starting to go through every other potential job for Draco, when the door banged open and Ron marched inside furious.

‘You have went too far this time, mate…’

‘With…?’ Harry was trying to remain calm.

‘You want Malfoy _here_?!’

‘I told you that last year already and you didn’t seem to have a problem with it…’

‘That was before he came back and got himself involved with the snatchers! And with you! You clearly cannot be trusted around him!’

‘Once again, Ron, he did not _get himself involved with the snatchers_. He was acquitted…’

‘Only because I lost my temper!’

‘…and there is nothing between me and him. And there will be nothing. Why do you have a problem with it anyway?’

‘Because it’s Malfoy! He clearly cannot stay out of trouble and it’s rubbing off on you! You’re an Auror, Harry, you should be catching Death Eaters, not defending them! Ever since he came back you’re not yourself! You haven’t been in the office for months…’

‘That was Kingsley’s decision, not mine.’

‘And yet when he made you stay home longer, you did nothing! AND you requested a leave instead of working from home!’

‘I needed time to think and rest. It was an intense case for me.’

‘Yeah, because your boyfriend was implicated!’ Harry hated the way Ron said ‘boyfriend’. Even more, he hated that Ron used the word in the first place.

‘He is not my boyfriend. There is nothing between us.’

‘Sure, and what I saw the other night was what? Strip poker?’

‘That was a fluke. There is nothing there. Wait, did you tell boss about this?!’ Harry was panicking.

‘No, I didn’t. I’m trying to get rid of this picture from my brain. I told him I thought there was something between you two but that it was just intuition.’

‘What else did he ask about?’

‘Why do you care? It’s not like my opinion matters to you.’

‘It doesn’t, but it does to boss, so I’d like to know.’

‘Oh, thank you for your honesty…’ Ron sneered. ‘If you must know, he asked about the case and how much you involved Malfoy, and what parts of it did he figure out.’

‘Predictable.’

‘And he asked how I see him being here and us three working together.’ Harry felt his face turning white. This was no good.

‘What did you tell him?’

‘That I cannot stand the git and I’ll quit if he makes me work with him.’ Ron shrugged like it was nothing. Harry felt absolutely livid.

‘You did WHAT?! Do you have any idea what this means?! You just blew this whole thing! I’m going over there and telling him that at this point it’s either me or you! He gives Draco a job and I stay or I’m quitting!’

‘You will do no such thing, Mr. Potter.’ Chief’s voice came from the doorway. Ron and Harry fell silent. ‘You are not quitting. Now, I have carefully considered your request, Mr. Potter, as well as Mr. Weasley’s objections to it. I must say, it is a rather unusual development of events. You know very well that we do not usually employ people associated with the Dark Side.’ Harry groaned. There was no way Draco would get this job. He was fully prepared to storm out and never return, when he heard his boss continue. ‘And Mr. Weasley’s threat to quit does not make it any easier. As I have observed, the two of you need to take some time apart to resolve your issues. Mr. Weasley will be assigned a different partner for the time being and you, Mr. Potter, will have to work solely with Mr. Malfoy.’

‘Wait…’ Harry didn’t fully register what just happened. ‘Does this mean you’re giving Draco a job?’

‘I am, Mr. Potter. _For now_. Treat it as a trial period. If anything goes wrong or isn’t done according to proper procedures, you will both be fired, do we understand each other?’

‘Yes, sir.’ Harry breathed. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ron in total disbelief.

‘But, sir, how can you… he’s a Death Eater!’

‘I can, Mr. Weasley, and I just did. This is not your decision to make. And your refusal to obey by my orders on this, is precisely why you will be working with Mr. Longbottom from now on. Now, Mr. Potter, seeing as Mr. Malfoy will _not_ be employed as an Auror, he will not have all the privileges and duties you have. I will not, however, inquire how you two divide the work between yourselves, as long as all the reports and paperwork are signed by you and you only, and any court cases that may arise will be prosecuted on your own – Mr. Malfoy will have no standing as a prosecutorial representative in court. Other than that, you are free to work together as you would with Mr. Weasley. And please, leave whatever it is that you have with Mr. Malfoy, at home. I do not condone office romances or public displays of affection.’ Harry was too ecstatic with the prospect of him and Draco working together to even be bothered that now, apparently, even his boss believed that there was something between them.

***

‘Draco, you’re doing the dishes tonight!’ Harry joked when he opened the door. By the expression on his face, Draco didn’t find it amusing.

‘Sod off.’

‘That’s no way to talk to your supervisor, Mr. Malfoy. You’ll need to learn to behave.’ Harry was laughing.

‘Wait, what?’

‘You got the job! Of course, you’re not an Auror, so all the paperwork and court duties are on my head, but other than that, we work together!’

‘Wow…’ Draco still looked shocked. ‘So we’re really doing this? How does it work from now on? I stay behind a desk while you go catch the bad guys or what? And what about Weasley? What did your boss say?’

‘Slow down, Draco. We can work together like I would do with Ron normally, so you can join me in groundwork, but all the paperwork is to be signed by me only. And you can’t stand in court with me. Other than that, we’re free to figure it out for ourselves. Of course, they’ll be watching us closely, because now apparently even the Chief thinks we’re _something_ …’ He winced. Somehow, he thought he saw, for a brief second, a tinge of pain in Draco’s eyes ‘and if we fuck anything up or something isn’t up to standard, we’ll both be fired. But hey, we’ll be fine, we can do this! And the best part? Weasley’s working with Longbottom now, Chief thought we needed to be separated, so we’re flying solo.’

‘Wow, this is incredible!’ Draco was beaming with excitement.

‘I know! I think this calls for a cherry!’

‘What?’

‘Cherry cigarette. I don’t smoke them normally, because they’re hard to find, but I do keep a pack for special occasions.’ Harry pulled a pack from the drawer and offered it to Draco.

‘So this is why…’ Draco looked lost in thought lighting a cigarette.

‘Why what?’

‘Why you tasted like cherries the other day.’ He said quietly.

‘You remember?’

‘Yeah, I do.’ There was something in his voice that Harry couldn’t understand.

Silence fell between them as they smoked. It wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but Harry felt something weird, something like longing, rising in him. He decided he needed a drink.

***

The elf wine Harry brought (because he decided Firewhisky wasn’t festive enough for the occasion) was already nearly empty when Harry, emboldened by alcohol, spoke again.

‘Why do you remember, anyway?’

‘Remember what?’ Draco seemed to forget their exchange from 30 minutes prior.

‘The cherries.’

‘I don’t know, it was weird so it stuck.’

‘I thought you regretted it…’

‘What? That night? No. It felt good. Well, until Weasley showed up at least.’

‘What do you mean by ‘good’? Physically? Emotionally? I mean, everyone seems to think we’re… we’re _something_ , so…’ he paused for a second ‘…what are we?’

‘I don’t know. We’re not a couple, but there is something, at least when we’re drunk. So it doesn’t seem like we’re exactly just friends either.’

‘So what, we’re friends with benefits?’ Harry felt bitter when Draco said they were not a couple – it sounded so definitive, like he wouldn’t even consider it. But even friends with benefits was better than nothing, Harry thought, so he’d take it.

‘What’s that?’

‘Jesus, how do you not know this?’ Harry laughed slightly. A little bit of the bitterness lifted. ‘It’s like friends who have sex without actually being together.’

‘ _Do_ we have sex though? I mean, have you thought about it? Ever?’ Was that hope or fear? Harry couldn’t decipher.

‘Well, that night, before Ron showed up…’ Harry was suddenly feeling embarrassed – what if Draco rejected him? ‘I thought we were going further with this. I mean, not ahead of time, it wasn’t planned, but in that moment... you know.’

‘And if you were to plan this? Without the _moment_?’

‘I don’t know. I mean, I would want to, but what if it changes something?’

‘Doesn’t have to. As long as we both know what we’re getting into we should be fine.’

‘You want this?’

‘God, I’d never tell you this if I was sober, but…’ Draco didn’t look at him. It was clear he was embarrassed. ‘but yeah. I mean, I saw you in that towel that time and…’

‘And that groan wasn’t because you were annoyed with me spilling water everywhere?’ Harry smiled.

‘Basically.’

Harry smiled and wrapped his arms around Draco’s waist. Once again, they were lost in the kiss – and just like two weeks before, it was full of hunger, desperation, _need_ for each other. Harry felt Draco’s hands slide down and squeeze his arse, almost painfully.

‘God, your arse has been driving me crazy for weeks…’ Draco growled in his ear.

‘You want it?’ Harry smirked.

‘You offering?’ Draco’s hand was underneath his jeans and underwear, fingertips digging into Harry’s skin and brushing over his slit lightly. He thought he was going to lose his mind from these touches alone. All coherence was completely gone, all he could think of was how much he wanted this.

‘Yes… Please…’

That was all he needed to say apparently, because the next thing he experienced was a lightning in his head when Draco pushed on finger into him. His head fell back and a cry ripped through him. He didn’t even care that he was being loud and they were still standing by the open window, all he was focused on was Draco placing open mouthed kisses on his neck, sucking at his pulse point ,while stretching him more and more. Harry never wanted this to end, but the need to actually feel Draco inside him was too strong.

‘Draco…’ he was panting, but nothing, besides how the blonde made him feel, mattered anymore ‘…take me.’

Draco moaned at the request. There was no time for subtlety, they wanted each other right then and there – before Harry could even register what was going on, his jeans and underwear were on the floor and he was bracing himself against the windowsill, Draco behind his back muttering a lubrication spell. He felt those long, elegant fingers sliding along his slit with the faintest touch, but he couldn’t wait anymore. He pushed back against Draco’s hand and heard him chuckle.

‘You’re that impatient?’ He heard a low whisper in his ear and could only moan in response. ‘Well, since you asked nicely…’

There was a wave of pain and pleasure as Harry felt Draco push inside him and bite his neck at the same time. There will be bruises and marks tomorrow, he thought faintly, but it felt so incredible that his brain was melting now, so there was no way he was going to focus on that. Somehow, even though it was his first time, being stretched out by Malfoy’s cock felt so good that Harry only wanted more. He pushed back again.

‘Fuck, you’re so tight…’ Draco was growling again, but it only made Harry want him all inside. ‘…you’re so _delicious_ …’ He didn’t even think it was possible, but that last word sent Harry even further into a high. He was moaning, head thrown back onto Draco’s shoulder as he thrusted repeatedly sucking Harry’s neck.

Harry thought he understood now what Draco meant when he told him what amazing sex was supposed to feel like, but when he felt the blonde’s cock hit that one sweet spot, deep inside of him, he knew that up until this point he understood nothing. The world around him froze, there was no time or space anymore, there was nothing going on in his own brain even, besides the feeling of exploding into a million tiny pieces as he came, painting his chest and stomach in long, white arcs. Behind him, he heard Draco’s long, low moan, and felt his release filling him up, making him feel like for a fraction of a second he was back to being a whole person again, before melting into nothingness completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do let me know what you think!
> 
> ~~
> 
> Side note: bonus points for anyone who understands where I got the 'infinitely worth saving' quote from (and while I'm at it - I realized, after writing this chapter, that even if we disregard the 'wizards knowing muggle tv quotes' issue, the timeline doesn't exactly add up, but it fit so perfectly there that I decided to leave it in. Sorry if it bothers you, I'll try and be better with any future references!)


	10. Do you swear to tell the truth?

For the first time in weeks, Draco woke up feeling completely serene, almost surreally so. He laid there for a while, brushing his fingers through Harry’s hair, feeling almost as if they were an actual couple. And it didn’t even matter now that they weren’t – the room was completely silent apart from the sound of Harry’s breathing, and for once he was happy just being there. He thought that if this is what his last night’s decisions led him, maybe he should just take what life throws at him instead of trying to fight it and go against it. He smiled to himself, content with his newfound outlook on life.

‘What time is it?’ Draco hadn’t noticed when Harry woke up.

‘I don’t know, haven’t checked yet.’ He glanced at the Muggle alarm clock on the nightstand. ‘6:30. What time are we supposed to be in the office anyway?’

‘8, so we better get up. You’re showering first? I’ll make coffee.’ Draco felt a little tinge of sadness poke him. He had hoped they wouldn’t just go back to their normal lives like nothing happened. _You take what you get, don’t fight it_ he reminded himself and got up.

***

So far, the day has been uneventful. Harry and Draco were stuck in the office catching up on paperwork, unbothered by anyone. Harry suspected that the news of Draco Malfoy working with him hasn’t spread yet, since Ron was on assignment with Neville since the break of dawn, and he was thankful that him and Draco were left alone – that way he could look up at the blonde from time to time, revelling in memories of last night and admiring how hot Draco looked all concentrated and intense. Harry found it weird how he never before seemed to register that the man was actually _handsome_ – he has bounced back from his wasted state Harry has seen both back in Muggle London and when Ron first brought him back from Scotland, and now he was tall and elegant and lean, his skin back to its usual, almost iridescent, tone, that reminded Harry of white marble. Harry smiled to himself, looking at how Draco was chewing at his bottom lip, thinking. There was a faint hue of colour on his cheeks and his usually steel-grey eyes seemed to darken with determination, and Harry was instantly reminded of how Draco looked at him last night: it was almost the same, although yesterday there was maybe a little more warmth in those eyes – like Harry wasn’t a _task_ but someone Draco actually _wanted._

He sighed and tried to go back to his own work – it was pointless to go there, they would never be anything more than what they already were, and trying to reignite that hope would only hurt him. But then again, it didn’t hurt to dream, right? He was yanked out of his own fantasy, however, when the door opened and he saw Ron and Neville standing there.

‘Just came for the last box of my cases.’ Ron muttered seemingly to no one.

‘Go ahead.’ Harry was determined not to even look at him. He was still too angry at all Ron has done.

‘Guys…’ Neville pleaded quietly. ‘Do you have to be like this? You used to be friends! We all did!’

‘As long as Ron insists that I’m out of my mind, this is how it’s going to be.’ Harry said bitterly. ‘I’m sorry Neville, but I’m not the one having a problem with me and Draco, he is.’

‘I’m not having a problem with you and him! Do whatever you want, you can shag in the office for all I care.’ Ron shrugged. ‘What I do have a problem with is you somehow convincing everyone around you that him working here is a good idea.’

‘So what, Weasley, you think me seeing a case file open is more of a problem than seeing Harry naked?’

‘Exactly.’

‘And why is that?’

‘Because I don’t trust you! Harry’s perfectly capable of defending himself if you decided to do something to him, but if you start meddling with our work, that’s going to be tougher to prevent. I’m still not convinced you are innocent of those swindle charges.’

‘And what would it take for you to believe us?’

‘There is nothing you can do, all I have is your word and to me it’s worthless.’

‘Actually, there is one thing…’ Harry didn’t like the look in Draco’s eyes.

‘What?’ By the expression on his face, Ron was afraid.

‘You and me, tonight. Neutral ground, let’s say Grimmauld Place, if Harry’s ok with it. It can be just us, or you can bring Longbottom and I’ll bring Harry. Veritaserum. Both of us drink it and we hammer it all out. After that, you lay off us.’

‘WHAT? Draco, no! You can’t do this!’ Harry was mortified. He knew Ron and he knew this was the worst idea ever.

‘I have to, Harry. He’ll never get off your case if I don’t do this. Me, I couldn’t care less what he thinks, but I see this is eating you alive.’ He looked back at Ron. ‘So what’s it gonna be, Weasley? You in or out?’

‘And where do you plan to get it? It’s not exactly an over the counter thing.’ Ron was clearly terrified.

‘Don’t make me laugh, Weasley. I happen to know you have an unofficial stash in here that nobody tracks. Or, if you’re too afraid, I still have some contacts that can obtain some any given moment – that is, if you’re not scared of me…’ The smirk he said it with was terrifying – for the first time Harry thought that maybe Ron was onto something with nit trusting him.

‘And how do you know about that stash?’

‘ _Logic_ , Weasley. I’ve seen people crack during questioning. People who haven’t said a single word otherwise.’

‘Fine, Malfoy, have it your way. Tonight – you, me, Harry and Neville. I’ll bring it – I don’t trust you enough to drink anything you give me. Grimmauld Place?’

‘Fine by me. Harry?’ He looked expectantly at him.

‘No. You shouldn’t even be doing this in the first place, but if you’re set on it, we’re doing this in the apartment. It’ll be safer.’

‘I’m ok with this.’ Ron said. ’10 o’clock tonight?’

***

Ever since they came back from work, Draco couldn’t shake the feeling something was wrong. It was half past nine when he finally gathered enough courage to ask.

‘Harry, what’s wrong? You’ve been dead silent since we came back.’

‘I don’t know how to tell you this…’ Harry was looking at the floor. ‘Well, to put it simply, you scared me.’

‘With what?’

‘How did you know about Veritaserum in the office? Only a few people knew.’

‘Intuition and bluff. I had an idea that something was off all the way back during the trial. Yaxley and Rowle would never spill this much on their own. But I didn’t know for sure so I lied to get Weasley to admit it.’

‘Why would you want to work there then? If you suspected that’s what we did.’

‘Because it doesn’t matter to me anymore. I cut ties with these people. And it’s not really illegal as far as I know, right?’

‘It isn’t, but under very strict circumstances.’

‘Either way: it makes no difference now. If they wouldn’t have said what they said, someone else would. My father would, to be precise. And then, he would be in even more trouble. So, all in all, it’s a good thing you did it – if you hadn’t, Lucius would have said everything, would get a lesser sentence for cooperation and I would be an orphan, or dead, the minute he got out.’

‘He knew everything?’

‘We both did. Don’t forget, Voldemort lived in our house, we knew everything. That’s why I refused to testify.’

‘But then you were facing life, just like your parents!’ Harry was terrified.

‘I figured it was better to live in Azkaban than be dead anywhere else.’

‘God, Draco… I never knew…’

‘I know you didn’t. Only my mother knew.’

‘But… but why did you come up with this idea in the first place? You know that Ron will not hesitate to ask about everything!’

‘So what? I decided I’m going to stop fighting what happens. If he knows what I did in Muggle London, let it be.’

‘No, he can’t know!’ Harry was clearly panicking. ‘We need to set some rules for this! You can only talk about the case!’

‘Why?’ Draco started to get scared himself – what if Harry didn’t want Weasley to know what they did the night before? What if he regretted it? ‘You don’t want him to know what we are? Or is it because of what I used to do?’

‘No, it’s… it’s not like that.’ There were tears in Harry’s eyes. ‘I just don’t know who he can tell about you. You ran because you thought I told people and I’m scared you’ll run again…’

Draco wanted to tell him that he won’t, that he could never leave him alone ever again, but a knock on the door stopped him.

***

Twenty minutes later they were sitting on the floor of Harry’s living room. Draco and Ron were glaring at each other, a small bottle of Veritaserum, almost empty, tossed on the floor between them.

‘Go ahead, Weasley, ask your questions.’ Draco was determined to get this resolved.

‘Fine, Malfoy, let’s start easy. Were you a part of that snatcher gang?’

‘No. My turn – why do you have a problem with me working in your office?’

‘I told you, I don’t trust you.’

‘Even now, when you know I’m really innocent?’

‘Even now. I don’t know how you managed to get Harry to trust you. How did you?’

‘I don’t know. I presented my point of view and he believed it.’

‘Did you hex him or use any tricks on him?’

‘No. And that was two questions in a row. Why did you attack him in the courtroom like that?’

‘Because…’ Ron was clearly fighting the potion. ‘Because it hurt.’

‘What did?’

‘To know he doesn’t respect me enough to come to me if he has a problem. It’s been going on for over a year now – first he doesn’t tell me what happened between you two, then he screams at me and Hermione for trying to help, and now he’d rather use your help than mine. You – of all people!’

‘Ron, it’s not like that…’ Harry whispered.

‘Good to know.’ Ron sounded bitter. ‘Did you lie during your last trial at any point?’

Draco was stalling. He wanted to say no, but Veritaserum wouldn’t let him. ‘Yes.’

‘When?’ Ron had a knowing smirk on his face.

‘When I told you what I did for a living in the Muggle world.’

‘What _did_ you…’ Harry tried to stop Ron, but it was too late – he managed to get out a big enough portion of a question for Veritaserum in Draco to work.

‘I was a whore.’ Draco froze. Despite what he told Harry, this was the last thing he wanted Weasley to know.

‘WHAT?!’ Ron looked utterly shocked and Neville almost fell over. Harry’s face was a mixture of fury and horror.

‘I was a whore.’ Veritaserum wouldn’t take silence, so Draco had to say the truth before he would suffocate to death. ‘A _female_ whore.’

‘But… but how?’ Neville was the one to break the silence.

‘Self-transfiguration and glamour charms.’

‘So why didn’t you stay there?’ Draco didn’t know who asked the question – his eyes were at Harry, who was looking like he was on the verge of tears.

‘Harry found me and I thought he was going to tell everyone. I couldn’t take it, so I ran.’ Draco was just hoping that this would be enough, that Veritaserum wouldn’t make him say anything else.

‘What exactly…’ Ron started.

‘I swear to God, if you finish this question, you will not get out of here alive…’ Harry’s voice was barely audible and his face was completely white. He reached for his wand and pointed it at Weasley’s face. For the first time in his life, Draco was actually terrified of Harry.

‘Fine, let it be. You two keep your secrets. But let me ask you this, Malfoy: how can you even touch him knowing what you were before? Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?’

‘I am ashamed, yes. But I love him.’ Draco didn’t even know where it came from. But now it was out there and he was horrified – not because the other two knew, but because Harry knew, and Draco’s heart was now completely at his mercy.

‘You… you love me?’ Harry whispered, breaking the silence that fell on the room following Draco’s confession.

‘I do.’ Draco was looking at the floor.

‘Then why did you settle for this _friends with benefits_ thing?’ Harry seemed to forget there were other people in the room.

‘I was afraid of losing you. I thought it’s better than nothing. I knew if I just moved out we would never see each other again, and that made me want to find that razor again.’

‘What razor?’ Neville pressed his hands to his mouth. ‘Oh God, I’m sorry, I forgot about the Veritaserum… Don’t answer that!’

‘It doesn’t work like that.’ Ron remarked.

‘I tried to kill myself a few months ago.’ It didn’t matter to Draco that they knew. Harry still hasn’t said anything about his love confession and that was making him afraid.

‘Guys, I think we went too far tonight. Ron, are you satisfied with the answers you got?’ Harry said.

‘Not nearly.’ Ron looked like he regretted saying this. But he too drank the potion, so there was nothing he could do about it.

‘Why? You still don’t trust him after this?’

‘I want to know why you stopped me from asking that one question. And as for trust, it’s coming to me, I’m not completely there yet.’

‘I had my reasons. It doesn’t concern you. Can you leave us alone now?’

Ron and Neville left, and Draco was now feeling completely drained and terrified. Veritaserum was still in effect, swimming through his bloodstream, so he knew that he couldn’t undo his confession. He felt miserable under Harry’s gaze, like what he said hurt them both: it wasn’t like Harry had any feelings towards him, and now that he knew how Draco felt, he would most likely feel obligated to stay with him, even when he clearly didn’t want to – Draco knew that Harry was too much of a good, caring person to risk doing anything that would push anybody, even Draco, to hurting themselves. So he would stay there, waiting for something to change, before he could just up and leave Draco forever, because he surely can’t be expected to be stuck with him for the rest of his life. But the moment Draco blurted out his potion-induced love confession, it became clear that those feelings weren’t going anywhere, that he would be forever in love with Harry Potter. And even if somehow, at some point, he would manage to lie and convince Harry that he was over him, just to free him of the burden of having to be there, it would take time. And in the meantime he would be the lowest thing he has ever been in his life – a charity case for feelings. He chuckled bitterly to himself, wiping the tears that gathered in his eyes. How could he have been so naïve to think that he had already hit his rock bottom? It should’ve been obvious – as long as you can still somehow survive with all the self-loathing and pure, unadulterated hatred towards yourself, it can still be worse. He sighed. At least this time there was nowhere to go. At least this time there was no way he could survive this, so things couldn’t possibly get any worse. Give it days and he wouldn’t be here anymore. And he wouldn’t even have to do anything, just stay there exactly where he was, feeling exactly as he did right now, and his own revulsion with himself will tear him to shreds on its own. It was just a matter of time.

‘What are you thinking about?’ Harry asked softly, pulling Draco out of his thoughts.

‘Dying.’ He didn’t even try to fight it this time, he knew that as long as Veritaserum was working, he wouldn’t manage to lie.

‘Dying?’ Harry seemed apprehensive.

‘Yes, dying. I’m just waiting to die at this point.’

‘You… you’re not thinking about cutting yourself again, are you?’

‘No. There’s no need. How I’m feeling will kill me on its own.’ Draco was forcing himself not to look at Harry.

‘I… I don’t understand…’ Harry’s voice sounded shaky.

‘I hate myself enough right now for it to kill me.’

‘Why would you hate yourself?’

‘Because I told you I love you, you know it’s true, there’s no way to undo what I did, and you have no feelings for me. And you’re too much of a good person to just leave after what I said, because you’ll think I’ll hurt myself, so you’ll stay here to make sure I don’t, even if it’s the last thing you want.’

‘Who told you I don’t have feelings for you?’

‘I just know.’

‘Draco…’ Harry forced his chin up. ‘Draco, I love you. I have for a long time. I was just scared you didn’t, so I didn’t say anything.’

Draco turned his face away from Harry. ‘I don’t believe you.’


	11. Where do you bury the demons of the past?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so this is - in my humble opinion - kind of dark, even by my standards. So brace yourselves for flashbacks to torture and mentions of murder.

Harry was devastated. There was nothing he could do to convince Draco he wasn’t lying – no matter how many times he repeated it, how many times he told him to just try and believe, Draco was sure Harry was saying all these things to just make sure there would be no suicide attempt. So they were stuck like this, in complete silence, both of them still in Harry’s apartment and both of them still working in the office, for days. Harry knew Draco was hurting – it was enough to just look at him, bent over piles of paperwork day and night, to see that there was nothing but pain in those grey eyes, that he was just wishing something would happen that could free both of them.

And that something, for better or worse, came a week after their love confessions.

They were sitting in the office, filling out miles of forms on past cases (Harry at some point began wondering if it was even possible that all they’ve been doing ever since he came back to work and Draco started there, had been a coincidence and not some ploy orchestrated by Chief), when Kingsley barged into the room, Ron and Neville behind him.

‘Gentlemen.’ He greeted them. ‘I realize you’re probably very busy, but I have a job for you.’

‘What is it sir?’ Harry looked up at the Minister.

‘Mr. Longbottom and Mr. Weasley have uncovered what might be a secret room, we don’t know for sure yet, in one of the ex-Death Eater’s houses. Problem is, we do not know how to open it or what’s inside.’

‘If they found it, what do you need us for?’ Draco seemed unconvinced.

‘Well, Mr. Malfoy, there is a catch… The residence in question is your childhood home.’

‘WHAT?!’ Harry jumped up.

‘Minister, they can’t! You just said it, Malfoy’s involved! AGAIN!’ Ron was flailing his arms and screaming.

‘ _When_ exactly did I say it, Mr. Weasley? I merely said you found the room in his childhood home, this doesn’t automatically implicate Mr. Malfoy.’ He looked at Draco and Harry’s eyes followed his gaze. Draco looked horrified.

‘Minister…’ He started quietly ‘I realize how this looks, but I assure you, all the secret storage rooms I knew about have been already opened. I have no idea what they found or where, but I’ve seen the house being emptied and there was nothing left as far as I knew…’

‘Mr. Malfoy, I am not treating you as a suspect.’

‘But Minister…’ Neville looked almost as terrified as Draco ‘if we don’t even know if he’s involved, how can we let him on the case?’

‘This is exactly why I came here myself, Mr. Longbottom. This is very serious business, whatever is inside of that room can potentially be fatal, and without Mr. Malfoy’s help the risks are even bigger. But we do need to determine if we can trust you.’

‘Will you all stop with the accusations?! Is this going to go like that EVERY case?!’ Harry blew up. He couldn’t stand it anymore.

‘Harry, relax.’ Draco stood next to him and placed his hand on Harry’s shoulder. ‘It’s normal they wouldn’t trust me with this, it is… well, was… my house. Minister,’ he looked Kingsley directly in the eyes ‘I’m prepared to do whatever you need me to. Legilimency, Veritaserum, I’m open to anything.’

‘Mr. Malfoy, I appreciate it, but none of those are valid options in this case. Legilimency can be blocked and Veritaserum can be used in strictly controlled conditions, under very specific circumstances so as to assure only the necessary information is revealed, and nothing more.’ Harry glared at Ron. ‘However, since you say you’re willing to do whatever it takes to clear any suspicions, I will have to ask you for your memories.’

‘From what period of time, Minister?’ Draco looked calm and collected, but Harry could feel his hand trembling. He knew that if Minister asked for anything after the war, he could find out what Draco did in the Muggle world.

‘From the moment you’ve been made a Death Eater until the end of the war – for now.’ Draco calmed down slightly and reached for his wand. ‘I’m sorry, Mr. Malfoy, but the proper procedure is for someone else to extract the memories. It can more painful than usually, depending on the person that performs the spell, and I’m sorry for that, but we cannot risk any tampering with evidence. Mr. Potter, would you be willing to do it?’

‘Actually, Minister…’ Ron cleared his throat. ‘I do still have my suspicions about them, and this is, after all, our case, so I think it would be better if I did it.’ Harry was quickly getting angry. What was Ron playing at?

‘Go ahead.’ Kingsley nodded. Draco was visibly scared. He groaned in pain when the thin, silver strand of his memories connected to the tip of Ron’s wand. It seemed to take forever, like Ron was doing this on purpose, to cause as much pain as he could – and by the look on Draco’s face he was succeeding. By the end, Draco had tears in his eyes and was biting his lip not to scream.

‘You did this on purpose, I know it…’ Harry growled at him quietly so that Kingsley wouldn’t hear.

‘No idea what you’re talking about.’ Ron shrugged and left the room.

The rest of them followed. When they gathered in Ron’s and Neville’s office, there was a pensive already on one of the desks. It was bigger than the one in Hogwarts and seemed older. Kingsley gestured for them to gather around and soon they were falling down to face Draco’s history.

***

_They were standing in the middle of a large ballroom in what Harry assumed to be Malfoy Manor. Draco and Narcissa were surrounded by a circle of Death Eaters, face to face with Voldemort – Narcissa’s expression was unreadable, while Draco was clearly terrified._

_‘Well, my dear Draco, the day has come…’ Voldemort spoke, raising his wand ‘for you to claim your father’s place. Give me your arm.’_

Harry felt the real, present-time Draco shaking looking at the scene. He took the blonde’s hand, linking their fingers together. It was cold as a corpse and trembling.

_In the memory, Draco rolled up his sleeve, exposing his left forearm. Voldemort grabbed his wrist and dug the tip of this wand into Draco’s skin, tracing the outline of the Dark Mark. In the complete silence of the room the faint, muffled cries of pain he was trying to stifle in his throat, were like a thunder._

Harry couldn’t look at the scene. He looked at Draco standing next to him and saw him biting his lip, holding back tears. He unlaced their fingers, wrapped his arm around Draco’s waist and pulled him close – he didn’t even fight it, holding on to Harry tightly, burying his face in the crook of his neck. ‘It’s ok, you’re safe now, it’s just a memory…’ Harry whispered, gently running his fingers through the blonde hair ‘…he can’t hurt you anymore, he’s dead… I’m here, you’re safe… It’s all fine now, I’ll stay with you, I’ll keep you safe…’.

The scene changed, but Draco didn’t pull away from Harry.

_‘You failed me, Draco…’ Voldemort was sitting at the head of a long table, Nagini coiling around his shoulders restlessly. The room was almost empty this time, with only Draco, Lucius, Narcissa, Bellatrix and Snape there ‘you failed me just as your father did… If it wasn’t for Severus, Albus Dumbledore would still be alive, and it would be your fault, Draco… You need to be punished…’ Nagini raised her head and hissed. ‘No, dear, there is no need for that… yet.’ Voldemort addressed her. By the looks on everyone’s faces Harry realized he was the only one who understood what he said. He opened his mouth to translate but a shrieking Crucio pierced the air. Draco fell to the floor screaming in agony._

The scene seemed to go on for hours, but all Harry could focus on was Draco’s tears on his neck and his nails digging into his side. It hurt, but Harry knew it was nothing compared to what he was feeling right now, just listening to the memory. He tightened his arms around Draco, trying to shield him from what was going on. ‘Shhh, don’t listen… It’ll be over soon… Don’t listen, just focus on my voice…’ He whispered quietly enough for only Draco to hear ‘You’re not there anymore… It’s not real, it’s not happening, nobody’s hurting you now… Don’t listen… Focus on me now, breathe, focus on my voice, not on that…’ It seemed to work – Draco was still crying, but his breathing evened out a little and his grip on Harry loosened. The screaming stopped and Harry dared to look at what was happening.

_Voldemort was standing over Draco, his face twisted into a sneer. ‘Well, I’m impressed… I didn’t think you were that resilient, Draco… Maybe there is some hope for you after all. But you will have to prove to me you have something to offer, and so far you’ve failed to do that. Lucius, bring in our guest.’ Voldemort demanded, and soon a small, thin wizard was escorted into the room. ‘Draco, meet Florean Fortescue. He’s our guest of honour tonight, although I must say he doesn’t seem very cooperative… Now, Draco, I think we might all benefit from your assistance in persuading Mr. Fortescue to share his knowledge of ancient magic.’ Voldemort’s face was completely blank when he said it. Draco looked like he was going to fall back onto the floor at any moment. ‘Now, dear, just follow the little demonstration I gave you…’ Draco raised his wand weakly and whispered Crucio. Nothing happened._

_‘You need to mean it, Draco!’ Bellatrix screamed._

_‘Silence!’ Voldemort was angry. ‘Draco, do you need another lesson on how it’s done?’ Draco shook his head and closed his eyes. This time Florean Fortescue fell to the floor in pain._

Harry couldn’t look anymore. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on the real-life Draco still clinging onto him. He slid his hand underneath the blonde’s t-shirt and ran his fingers lightly along his spine. ‘It’s fine, it’s not your fault…’ Harry pressed his lips to Draco’s temple ‘they forced you, it’s not your fault… I’m here and I’ll stay with you… I love you, I always will, no matter what happens…’. He felt Draco’s whole body stiffening at the words.

Catching Kingsley’s glance Harry tried to silently plead for the Minister to let them leave the pensive. Kingsley seemed to understand because he nodded and the next thing Harry registered was all of them landing back in Ron’s and Neville’s office.

They all looked like they saw things they never wanted to see – Shacklebolt’s expression seemed determined and intimidating, Ron had pure horror painted on his face, and Neville looked absolutely terrified. Draco was still wrapped in Harry’s arms, crying quietly. They all stood there, in silence, waiting for one another to break it, but nobody seemed to have found the right words. Finally, it was Draco who spoke.

‘Minister…’ his voice was still hoarse from crying ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t go back there… I can’t face all that happened. I know… I know that what you saw is not enough, but… but I can’t see the rest with you. It gets worse… I…’ he clung to Harry again, hiding his face from the other men ‘I killed that man. They made me.’ The tears came back and Harry instinctively pulled him closer.

‘God, Draco, I…’ Harry didn’t even care if anyone heard him, it was not important. All that he cared about was that Draco was hurting and he needed to do something, anything to stop it. ‘I didn’t know. I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…’ he was once again running his fingers on Draco’s back, holding him tightly. It took a while, but the blonde seemed to calm down enough to look at him.

‘How can you… I don’t deserve… I’m… What I did…’

‘What you did was not your fault. He made you do this, he tortured you into obeying him.’ Harry cupped Draco’s face in his hands, looking directly into those steel eyes. ‘You can’t be blamed for that.’

‘But I shouldn’t have… I’m a monster…’ Draco’s eyes were clouding with tears again. ‘How do you even…’

‘You’re not a monster, Draco.’ Harry wiped his tears away. ‘They forced you to do this. If anyone knows how Voldemort really is, it’s me, and I know you had no choice. It doesn’t change my opinion of you.’

Shacklebolt cleared his throat, breaking the moment. ‘Mr. Weasley, Mr. Longbottom, regardless of what we’ve seen so far, I do feel we need to go back and investigate Mr. Malfoy’s history further. I’m sorry to say, but however eye-opening what we’ve witnessed so far has been, it doesn’t aid our case – I hope you don’t take this against you, Mr. Malfoy…’ he addressed Draco hesitantly.

‘No, Minister, I don’t. I realize this was not enough to answer your suspicions. But… Can I stay here and you go on yourselves? I can’t handle what’s in there.’

‘Actually, Minister…’ Harry interrupted. ‘I think it would be best if you go with Ron and Neville and I’ll stay with Draco here.’

‘If that’s what you both want, I have no objections.’ Kingsley nodded.

***

It was almost an hour later when Kingsley, Ron and Neville emerged from the pensive for the second time – if it was possible, they looked even more horrified and shocked than before: Neville’s face had a sickly greenish tinge to it and Ron was visibly shaking.

‘How on Earth do you even…’ Ron started, but stopped himself.

‘How do I function after this?’ Draco still not completely calm, but his expertise in compartmentalizing let him shove all he witnessed back into the darkest corners of his memory. ‘I don’t think about it. I just bag it up and pretend this never happened.’

‘But…’ Neville was stuttering. ‘but how do you just not think about it? It’s… What you went through… I mean…’

‘I don’t know. I just don’t. I have been doing things like that all my life, it just comes natural to me. With my family you learn this before you even talk.’ Draco sighed and looked at Kingsley. ‘Minister, did you find anything in there?’

‘No, Mr. Malfoy, sadly there was nothing.’ Shacklebolt shook his head. ‘On one hand it’s good, because there is no proof you’ve been involved in this, but on the other, it doesn’t completely erase my hesitation. I’m sure you understand.’

‘I do, Minister. But what do we do now? Whatever else I give you is going to have the same effect – like I told you, I knew nothing about the hidden storage, so all the rest of my memories will be equally useless.’ His lips were pressed into a thin line.

‘Well, there is one other option…’ Kingsley seemed hesitant. ‘I was hoping we would be able to avoid it, both because it’s less reliable than what we did, and because it might prove even more painful than revisiting your memories…’

‘Whatever it is, if it’s going to hurt him more than what we’ve done so far, than it’s not even an option!’ Harry stood up.

‘Harry, please, don’t. I’m not going to fall apart.’ Draco tried to smile, but he was too scared of what Shacklebolt was planning. ‘What is it, Minister?’

‘Would you be prepared to confront your father?’

‘My… my father? You want me to talk to Lucius?’ He was panicking. Ever since the end of the war him and Lucius weren’t even speaking – after Voldemort’s defeat Lucius shut off from everyone and Draco blamed himself for not being able to pull the family back together, and since the conviction he slowly grew to hate his father for what he put him and his mother through.

‘I’m afraid it’s our only option. It was your family home, and if anyone is going to know what’s hidden there, it’s Lucius. And depending on what he tells you we might be able to determine who besides him knew. But you would have to do it alone – none of us can be seen with you if he is to trust you. We would be listening to the conversation from a different place.’

‘I’m…’ Draco didn’t know what to say. He was scared, he didn’t want to do it, but he knew this was the only option if he was to prove that he didn’t know anything.

‘Minister, with all due respect, this is an asinine idea.’ Harry looked determined. ‘You cannot force him to do this! Besides, Lucius will figure out something is off! He’ll never talk and if he does, it would be only to implicate Draco – it’s not exactly a secret he’s still angry at him about the refusal to testify!’

‘This is why we need a good excuse. That is, if Mr. Malfoy is prepared to do this.’

‘I am.’ However grateful for Harry’s protection Draco was, he needed to prove he was trustworthy. And he decided that confronting his past might actually bring some benefits. ‘But I will need a cover story – Harry is right, he’ll never trust me without it. Is there anything I can use to persuade him that he might gain something by telling me?’ Suddenly, an idea came to him. ‘Minister, I’m sorry for asking, but… Did you use Veritaserum during the trials?’

‘I cannot tell you that, Mr. Malfoy…’ Kingsley seemed suspicious. ‘But what I can tell you is that nothing was illegal during the proceedings.’

‘No, no, that’s not what I’m talking about. I just need to know if Yaxley and Rowle cracking was because of the Veritaserum or if they talked on their own – my father will probably know which one was it, and I have an idea to use that, but I can’t risk blowing the whole story over this.’

‘I need to know your idea, Mr. Malfoy. This is privileged information and I cannot divulge it freely.’ The Minister’s suspicion was slowly morphing into curiosity.

‘What my father wants, most of all, is to get out of Azkaban and go back to his old life. And if I tell him I want it too, he’ll believe me, because, to him, no life would be better than what we had. So I need to convince him that there is a chance his conviction might be overturned – to do that, I need to have something that would cause the Wizengamot to throw out the evidence against him. The only thing that could potentially do that is if you used Veritaserum on Rowle and Yaxley, since they ratted out everything my father ever did wrong.’

‘I fail to see how this is connected to the secret storage…’

‘It is!’ Draco was getting excited. Plotting schemes was, after all, a very Slytherin thing to do. ‘You see, if I know that the testimony might be thrown out, the Auror Office would know too, right? So what would they do? They would look for other evidence to keep my father in prison, even with Rowle’s and Yaxley’s confessions not usable anymore – and the first thing they would do is go search the house. Enter me – I’m supposed to want my father out of prison, so I need to clear the house of anything that might implicate him. And to do that I need to know where to look, what to look for and how to get rid of it quickly.’

‘This is actually kind of brilliant…’ Ron looked astonished.

‘Well, I think this plan might work. I’m impressed, Mr. Malfoy, I really am.’ Kingsley was nodding. ‘Just for the sake of the case, I am going to tell you that we did, in fact, use Veritaserum during the trials, both on Yaxley and Rowle – but it was according to all procedures.’

‘It doesn’t matter if it was properly used or not, my father will probably think it was illegal anyway.’ Draco smiled. ‘As long as it has been used and he knows it, he’ll believe me.’

***

It was almost nightfall when Draco was escorted through the corridors of Azkaban to his father’s cell. When the iron door shut behind him, he shivered – even without the dementors there, it was the last place he ever wanted to find himself in.

‘Draco?’ His father was a shadow of a man: he looked worse than when he came back from his previous sentence – worse than Draco ever did, even after his exile in Scotland.

‘Hello, father.’

‘What are you doing here? Came to rub my nose in the fact that you’re a free man?’ It was evident that Lucius still hated him, possibly even more than before.

‘No, father. I came to help you.’ He tried to smile or sound genuine, but it wasn’t easy. ‘We have limited time, they only gave me fifteen minutes, so I’ll just go right into it, ok?’ That was a lie, but Draco decided that placing a time limit on the conversation will allow him to avoid explaining what he’s been doing for almost three years now. ‘I’ve been trying to establish myself after the war, and I’ve made some useful contacts in different places – one of them has told me recently that there might be a chance for us to overturn your and mother’s convictions…’

‘How?’ Lucius’ face lit up – Draco knew he chose the right cover story and relaxed a little.

‘You know how they used Veritaserum on Rowle and Yaxley?’ He asked.

‘I do…’ Lucius was hesitant.

‘Turns out not everything was according to procedures, so Wizengamot might throw their confessions out. And without them, they don’t have enough to keep you here for much longer.’ Seeing his father’s expression he quickly added: ‘Now, I don’t know what went wrong there or if it will even be enough to disregard their confessions. As I’ve been informed, the Auror office is still trying to assess the risk themselves. Which gives us a fighting chance.’

‘What are you trying to do, Draco?’

‘My suspicion is that if the confessions fall, they will be looking for other evidence to implicate you. There is still time to fight it, but I need your help – was the Manor emptied completely when the authorities confiscated our belongings? Is there _anything_ left they might use against you?’

‘What does the house have to do with anything?’ Draco was starting to panic, it looked like Lucius was much more wary than he expected.

‘Think logically, father.’ He quickly composed himself. ‘With all they’ve used against you, they need new evidence to keep you here. Where would they go first? My guess is – the Manor. So I’m asking, is it completely empty or do I have to go there to get rid of things they haven’t managed to find yet? I have watched the house being emptied and all the secret storage I knew about, they found. But if there is something else, something only you knew about, you have to tell me…’

‘There is one more. Only the Dark Lord and I knew about it, not even your mother knows. The Dark Lord created it himself…’

‘Where is it?’

‘Behind one of the walls in your room. The one your headboard is against.’

‘You’re telling me I slept next to Voldemort’s possessions for years? What’s inside? And how do you open it?’ He was raising his voice.

‘I’m sorry Draco, it wasn’t my decision. And I swore I wouldn’t tell anyone, not even you.’ Lucius hung his head. ‘I don’t know how to open it, I don’t even know if the Dark Lord opened it himself after he created it. All I know it was sealed with my blood and enchantments in parseltongue. As to what’s inside – I have seen several things like potions and vials of blood, a couple of books, but I don’t know the details.’

‘Has the Dark Lord ever told you anything about this?’

‘No. He only said that if I ever tried to open it without his permission, I’ll be dead.’

‘But… but would opening it kill you? Or did he mean that he would?’

‘I don’t know.’


	12. Why does this death feel different?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it took so long - I've been out of social isolation and back to working from the office instead from my own couch for the past week, so I'm having much less time to write and update than I used to. I'll try my best to update more regularly (although, in all fairness, that depends on how quickly the absolute tons of paperwork on my desk dissappear - and they seem to be sentient and grow on their own accord). I hope you forgive me!

Malfoy’s ploy to get information out of his father was a success, but Ron wasn’t entirely happy – the conversation they had back in Harry’s living room was still weighing on him, and now that there were no distractions in the form of suspecting Malfoy of doing anything shady (because even Ron had to admit he had been wrong multiple times about him by this point), or just purely hating the git, he realized he had to do some self-reflecting if his friendship with Harry was to survive – and he was very much set on making sure it would. So he sat there, in the office he shared with Neville, waiting for Malfoy to return from Azkaban, and started analysing why was it that he actually had that much of a problem with Harry’s new partner. Days ago, the answer would’ve been easy – he hated him and he didn’t trust him. But now, that the suspicions have been eased and Ron actually saw where Malfoy’s behaviour came from, neither of those seemed like viable options: for one, there was no reason not to trust him, and for the other, it was hard to hate him as much as Ron used to when you knew what kind of household he grew up in. Ron really didn’t like the thought, but he had to admit that if his parents were like Malfoy’s, he too would most likely turn out a miserable, bullying arsehole. And to see his reaction to what they’ve all witnessed in the pensive made Ron believe that there were in fact some human instincts and emotions inside Malfoy, it was just that they were buried by a mountain of insufferable coping mechanisms.

And then there was the confession he was forced to spit out under the influence of Veritaserum – apparently, even though he didn’t realize it, he was hurt by Harry’s relationship with Malfoy. Apparently, somewhere deep inside him, he felt tossed aside and exchanged for a ‘new best friend’. Weirdly, Ron realized that the feeling wasn’t entirely new to him – it was like he had already felt this way at some point in his life, although he couldn’t quite place when or who caused it. It was only when the phrase _misdirected jealousy_ popped into his head that he had a sudden moment of clarity – it was 4th year all over again and Harry didn’t trust him enough to share how he got his name into the Goblet of Fire. He felt completely stupid – it seemed like he hasn’t matured a day since then, just like all those years ago he lashed out on his best friend out of something that wasn’t even there. Because if he really focused and tried to understand what Harry was _actually_ feeling, and not what it looked like, it wasn’t like he didn’t respect Ron enough to talk to him, he was just guarding himself and trying to cope with all that happened ever since Malfoy presumably killed himself.

Ron knew he needed to talk to Harry as soon as possible and apologize for his behaviour – he looked up and opened his mouth to say all those things he just realized, but the door opened and Malfoy came back.

***

It was already past midnight when Harry and Draco finally left the Auror Office. They had been going over Lucius’ information and setting a plan in place for a couple of hours, together with Kingsley, Ron and Neville, and, having finally established that the four Office employees would visit the Manor the following evening, after dark, all Draco and Harry had the energy to do was to apparate straight back to Harry’s apartment and collapse on his bed.

Draco moved to get up and go sleep on the couch, but Harry caught his wrist.

‘Stay.’ He whispered. ‘After all you’ve been through today you shouldn’t be alone.’

‘I’m fine. And besides, it’s not like we have that kind of relationship…’ Draco felt a wave of bitterness filling him. After all the events of the recent weeks they didn’t exactly have _any_ kind of relationship.

***

By the time they found themselves outside the gates of Malfoy Manor the next night, it was pitch black outside. The wind was howling, whipping them with freezing bursts that were almost painful. They were all incredibly cold, but Harry suspected that the shaking of Draco’s hand he felt where their fingers were laced together wasn’t entirely caused by the dismal weather.

‘You fine?’ Harry asked, looking at him.

‘I’ve been better.’ Draco shrugged, clearly not wanting Harry to know how he really felt.

‘I’m sorry… I know you don’t really want to be here, but you’re the only person that has a chance to help us if something goes wrong. We don’t know what’s in there.’

‘I don’t either. I haven’t been in the house for three years, I don’t even have a clue what happened to it after parents lost it.’

‘It’s been empty this entire time.’ Harry said as quietly as the wind would allow. ‘The lawyers took it, but the Ministry sealed it and wouldn’t let them do anything until we’re completely certain it’s safe. They’ve been paying insane amounts of money in damages because of how long it’s been taking, actually.’

‘Good to know.’ Draco nodded, somehow solemnly. ‘I can’t imagine anyone else living here. It’s stupid, I would never want to live here myself, not after all that happened, but it’s been the family’s since the beginning, so it’s just, I don’t know, _unnatural_ , for it to be someone else’s.’

‘Honestly, I get it. I have the same thing with Grimmauld Place. It wouldn’t be right to sell it – like I would betray Sirius by it or something…’ Harry tried to shake the memory of Sirius off for now. They had a job to do. ‘Guys, how do we get in, anyway? I’m not sure I know what protection the Ministry used.’ He addressed Ron and Neville.

‘Identification spells.’ Neville answered.

They all took out their wands and, raising them above their heads, they walked one by one through the gate. Harry, Ron and Neville were already on the other side, but when Draco tried to follow them, the gate turned into a solid wall.

‘Fuck!’ He exclaimed, colliding with concrete. As soon as he stepped back, the wall disappeared. ‘Guess they didn’t foresee me being here for anything other than stealing something…’

‘Bloody fucking brilliant…’ Ron muttered under his breath ‘now we have gone through all that crap in the pensive for nothing…’ Harry had a sudden inkling that, despite his choice of words, Ron meant something different than them prodding around in some of Draco’s darkest memories being a waste of time. He smiled at his best friend and raised his wand again.

‘What else is there besides identification?’

‘No idea. Probably standard Ministry seals.’ Neville shrugged. Harry started lifting the enchantments.

Seeing what he was doing, Draco raised his wand to help Harry.

‘Malfoy, don’t!’ Ron shouted, but it was too late. The second Draco uttered the first spell, a thin rope of fire shot out of the gate and wrapped itself around his wrist. It was all too quick for Harry to see – all he registered was Draco’s scream and then falling onto his back, something heavy on top of him. It took a second to realize what happened – Draco must have been pulled through the gate by the rope of fire, like a prisoner being escorted into their cell. That analogy proved to be problematic, however, because Harry had no idea if they were going to be able to get out of the Manor at all, now that is was apparently serving as a prison for its ‘invader’. Harry groaned in frustration getting up – it was like the Ministry didn’t trust Draco even after they’ve offered him a job, at least not enough to actually do anything about the enchantments they’ve set in place to keep the ex-Death Eaters out. And the fact that nobody bothered to warn them was even worse. However, when he looked at Draco, his thoughts came to a screeching halt.

‘Oh God, are you ok?’ Harry immediately fell to his knees beside him – Draco’s face was twisted in pain, his right wrist covered in nasty, blistering burn marks. Harry couldn’t see properly in the faint _lumos_ casted by Ron and Neville, but it looked like there was smoke rising from the burns.

‘It hurts like hell…’ Draco whimpered. ‘What the fuck was that?’

‘I have no idea.’ Ron was standing over them.

‘But you tried to stop me from using my wand?’ Draco’s voice sounded full of suspicion.

‘I figured there would have to be some protection against lifting the spells from the outside. Or by people they’re designed to keep out. I just didn’t know what protection exactly. This one, I haven’t seen it before.’

‘Whatever it was, it looks horrible. Do any of you have any idea what the hell do we do now?’ Harry was furious.

‘Don’t get angry at us, we didn’t do it!’ Neville seemed scared. ‘We can’t go back, we need to get this done tonight – besides, I’m not even sure the gate will let us pass again. I’ll try and find something that would at least help with the pain, and you two send a message to the Minister to send someone to lift all of this so we can get out.’ He was rummaging through his pockets looking for some antidote, and in the meantime Ron sent his patronus to London. Finally, after what felt like ages, Neville pulled out a small vial and poured some green potion Harry didn’t recognize onto Draco’s wrist. ‘There. I don’t know if it will heal this, but it should keep it from worsening and help with the pain. How are you feeling?’

‘Marginally better. It doesn’t hurt as much, but my hand is still numb.’ Draco stood up. ‘Thanks, Longbottom.’

They walked up to the house in silence. When they got to the door, it opened soundlessly and this time, thankfully, all of them were able to step inside without issues.

‘Where to now?’ Ron asked. ‘Your father said the secret storage was next to your bedroom, right?’

‘Yeah.’ Draco winced – Harry knew it wasn’t due to pain. At least not physical one. ‘East wing, top floor, last door on the left. How do you not know this anyway? You were the ones that figured out there might be something unopened yet.’

‘We found traces of undisturbed dark magic, but we couldn’t exactly go looking for the source without assistance, could we?’ Ron was getting annoyed.

‘And your idea of _assistance_ is two more people who have no idea what to expect?’ Draco raised his brows.

‘Guys, stop.’ Neville took a step forward. ‘This is the worst situation to have a fight in. Malfoy, lead the way. Ron, shut up and follow.’ They all obeyed and soon they were climbing a wide marble staircase. By the time they were standing outside Draco’s bedroom door, they were out of breath.

‘No wonder you were always this thin…’ Ron panted. ‘What was that, a million stairs?’

‘Don’t be dramatic, Weasley, it’s only three floors. And besides, I spent most of my time in my room anyway. Perks of having a house elf, you can have anything delivered.’ Harry noticed a faint tinge of pain in Draco’s eyes when he said it. Ron tried to push the door open, but it wouldn’t move. Rolling his eyes, Draco stepped in front of him and opened the door with ease. ‘I never liked people invading my space without permission.’ He shrugged.

The room looked like it has just been cleaned for someone to come in – there was not even a speckle of dust on any of the surfaces, the large bed was covered in plum-coloured satin bedding, and the heavy, black velvet curtains were pushed aside, revealing an enormous arched window. Harry looked around: he was expecting ornate furniture and delicate materials, but to his surprise most of the walls, apart from the one behind the headboard, were bare and all of Draco’s furniture was very minimalistic, like someone just carved it out of black walnut and not even bothered to put a coat of paint on it. Only the chandelier looked expensive and almost baroque, glistening with hundreds of crystals in the light casted by their wands.

‘I always hated that thing…’ Draco muttered, following Harry’s gaze up ‘it’s preposterous, but my mother insisted it stayed.’

‘Actually… I was kind of expecting your whole room to look like that.’

‘Harry, please.’ Draco scoffed. ‘Do I really seem that over the top? No, I like my things to be simple, elegant and, above all, functional. I don’t need everything around me to be delicate and intricate, there’s no need for it.’

‘So you’re a monk all of a sudden?’ Ron looked surprised.

‘Hardly, Weasley. I like being comfortable, I just don’t share my parents’ taste in interior design.’ He shot Ron a sideways glance. ‘For instance, my mother would always choose some antique, French excuse of a bed, just because it has cherubs carved on it, even if it meant you’d be sleeping on top of your partner all night and waking up with a broken back every morning. Me, I’d much rather get myself a super king size with a good mattress, even if it means lack of naked angel butts.’

Harry laughed slightly. ‘Anyway, we should probably focus on the assignment. So, if what Lucius said is correct, the room should be somewhere… here.’ He touched the black wallpaper behind Draco’s bed and winced.

‘What happened?’ Draco leaped to stand next to him.

‘No, it’s nothing, just my…’ He hesitated – he didn’t want to tell Draco what hurt him, but he knew it could be important for the job. ‘the scar burned for a second when I touched the wall. But it’s really nothing, it wasn’t even that painful.’

‘Harry…’ the blonde looked him in the eyes – Harry could clearly see he was worried ‘if it hurts maybe I should try to open this. Besides, father said it was sealed with his blood, so my guess is that mine will be the most likely to unlock whatever this is.’

‘But how do we even do this?’ Ron’s voice came from somewhere behind them.

‘That I don’t know. All father said, is Voldemort used his blood and parseltongue. And that it might kill whoever tries to open this.’ He added quietly, looking at the floor.

‘Draco… I can’t let you do this…’ Harry was whispering. Thinking that there was even a chance he might lose the love of his life terrified him. ‘You can’t… I won’t survive if you…’

‘Harry, you’re much more valuable than me.’ Draco’s words suddenly reminded Harry of what Dumbledore said years ago. ‘You will survive. We both will.’ Draco added determinately and Harry was just hoping he was right. He pressed his lips into a thin line and nodded – he knew there was no changing Draco’s mind.

‘I’ll try to order it to open in parseltongue and we’ll see what happens, right?’ He looked at Draco to find confirmation. ‘Ron, Neville, if _anything_ goes wrong, you run, understand?’

‘No!’ Neville shrieked. ‘What about you? We’ll need to save you!’

‘I said _run._ If there’s time, save Draco first.’ Harry was deliberately not looking at him to not give him a chance to object. ‘I have a bigger chance of surviving whatever might attack us than he does, I have more experience with dealing with things like these.’ Without waiting for another word from the rest of the group, Harry turned to face the wall and hissed the command.

A narrow black door appeared in front of him. At first glance, it looked like it was just a storage closet, but Harry felt the dark energy radiating off of it. It was only when he looked at the doorknob, he saw a bloody handprint on it. He reached to turn it, but when he touched it, it burned. He pulled his hand back instinctively.

‘It needs a sacrifice.’ Harry heard Draco’s voice. It was disturbing – the tone was completely flat, with no emotion in it, like he was describing the weather forecast. ‘Hand me the knife – bottom drawer of the nightstand, under the potions book.’

‘Why…?’

‘Not now. I’ll explain later.’ Harry shivered, but reached into the drawer and pulled out a thin, silver knife. With a shudder, he realized that there was dried-up blood on the blade.

Like in slow motion, Harry watched Draco pluck the knife from his hand and slide it vertically across his whole left forearm, practically cutting the Dark Mark in half. Once again, for a brief second, Harry experienced a flashback to Dumbledore. But there was no time to dwell on that, because Draco was now resting his arm against the door. The moment he touched it surface, there was a metallic click of the lock and a piercing scream – it lasted maybe a fraction of a second, but to Harry it was like a lifetime. Draco’s hand slid off the door, leaving a bloody trace, but he just stood there, transfixed at something in front of him. The blood was now dripping onto the stone floor – only it wasn’t red, like it should be, it was black and thick like tar.

‘Harry!’ Ron’s voice brought him back to reality. There was no time to waste – he ran through the door, shouting at Neville to watch over Draco, and began gathering as much of whatever was in there as he could. He didn’t even know what he was grabbing and where it was going, couldn’t hear anything that was going on behind him – all he could focus on was trying to get out of there and back to safety as soon as possible.

It was only when the room was completely empty and the door was shut behind him, that Harry snapped back. He found himself clutching the last vial of some potion in his fist, standing face to face with Draco, who was still staring ahead with an empty gaze and bleeding something black. Harry realized just then how much he was shaking – he felt sick and cold, his whole body was trembling and the fist surrounding the vial was getting tighter and tighter. He could only manage to get out ‘Get him help!’ before he felt a sharp pain cutting through his skin – the glass broke and whatever was inside was now seeping into his bloodstream. He had no idea how long it took before the whole world around him went completely dark and he felt his body collapsing on the floor.

Like an out of body experience, from somewhere outside the house, through the window, he saw Ron and Neville lunging forward towards his frame on the floor and heard someone howling ‘No! Please! No!’. After that, there was just complete darkness and silence.


	13. Can a Dark Mark be helpful?

Harry was dead. His parents were dead. He was completely alone again and everyone knew it was entirely his fault. Everyone knew what he had been all his life, and where his choices led, not only him, but anyone he ever loved. The only option now was to just vanish, cease to exist, erase himself from all history and everyone’s memories. If only he knew how to do that, how to go beyond simply killing himself, and how to create a world where he never existed in the first place, he wouldn’t hesitate to do anything necessary to achieve it. He would’ve sacrificed his own soul for it – except he didn’t have a soul anymore, he was just a body. Or did he never had a soul in the first place? It didn’t matter, tearing himself to shreds wouldn’t accomplish anything – something, he didn’t know if it was inside him or somewhere outside, told him, that the only way to achieve what he wanted, what he _deserved_ for all he did in his life, was to take three small steps forward and shut the door behind him. Then, it would be all over. But he couldn’t do it – he didn’t know what was keeping him in place, it was like a force from behind him that was relentlessly pulling him back any time he tried to take a step, but he had no idea where the force came from. In fact, he didn’t know where he was or how he got there, he didn’t register anything happening around him at all – there was just impenetrable darkness, deafening silence, and that one, small, barely visible point of light that was calling for him. So he tried, again and again and again, to walk towards it, to vanish into nothingness, but something was stopping him every time.

Even when the light went out, when all that was left was darkness around him, he knew it was still somewhere there – like it never was about the light itself, but about what it indicated. Like whatever it was reached him itself, because he couldn’t reach it on his own. Like the nothingness approached him, hugging him and slowly melting him away, one thick, black drop at a time. It might have hurt, but he was beyond the point where he could actually experience anything physical – he was just _there_ , waiting to disappear completely.

***

It did hurt. Draco had no idea how much time has passed since he opened that door in his room or even where he was – all he was able to focus on was that his whole body hurt like never before. Getting branded with a Dark Mark, withdrawal symptoms, getting _crucio’d_ – it was all nothing compared to what he was feeling right now. It was like something was sucking his insides, all his blood and his soul out of his body. _This must be what dementor’s kiss feels like_ he thought faintly before passing out from pain.

***

When he first woke up, Draco didn’t recognize the room. Everything around him was starkly white and completely silent. When the initial shock passed and his eyes got used to the light again, he looked around. It looked like he was lying in a hospital bed – _St. Mungo’s probably_ , he thought, realizing that whatever happened back at the Manor must have not killed him, or he wouldn’t be there. Then, as soon as the idea that he was, in fact, still alive, sank in, everything else came back – slicing his forearm, opening the door and that horrible realization that everyone he ever loved or cared for, was no longer there. Was it real or was it all of it just in his head? He looked at his arms and screamed – his right wrist was still burned badly, but his other arm was what was worse: the cut he made was opened up, the skin at its edges looked like it was melting away. Did it mean that whatever he experienced, all the thoughts he had back in his old bedroom, were a reality? He didn’t have a chance to try and decipher this, because his scream alerted a nurse who was now rushing towards him.

‘You shouldn’t have woken up yet! You were supposed to sleep at least 12 hours!’ She seemed worried, but that wasn’t what Draco was focusing on right now.

‘What happened? Is Harry ok?’ He tried to sit up, but the nurse stopped him.

‘Calm down, dear, you need rest.’ She was pouring out some potion to give him. ‘It took our best healers three hours to get you to a reasonable state, we can’t have you undo this. Drink this, you’ll fall back asleep…’

‘I don’t want to sleep, I want to know if Harry is ok!’

‘Now, calm down. Drink and when you wake up I’ll send Healer Harris to talk to you.’ She practically forced the potion down his throat.

***

When Draco opened his eyes for the second time, it was already dark outside. He sat up and noticed someone was sleeping in a chair next to his bed. Even in a half-lit room he recognized Hermione.

‘Granger? What are you doing here?’ She jumped up.

‘Oh, hi, good evening.’ Draco couldn’t decipher what her expression was. ‘How are you feeling? Does it still hurt?’

‘No, it doesn’t. Can you tell me what’s going on? How’s Harry? What happened?’ Questions were swirling in his mind.

‘You’re in a hospital, you’ve been attacked by whatever was guarding the room back at the Manor – we don’t know what happened, Ron and Neville only said that you opened the door using your blood and that it looked like something possessed you – you were completely out of it, trying to go into the room. Neville had to hold you back the entire time.’

‘So that’s what the force was…’ Draco muttered to himself. ‘But how’s Harry? What happened to him?’

‘What force? Draco, you need to tell me everything, the healers still don’t understand what’s wrong with your arm, nobody has any idea how to fix this – they just managed to patch you up enough so you wouldn’t bleed to death…’ She looked worried. Did it mean she was worried about him or was there something else?

‘I opened the door and… and I…’ He didn’t know how to put what he felt into words. ‘The room was calling me, sort of. I thought I had to go inside to…’

‘To what?’

‘To die. Well, not quite, it was beyond dying, it was like I was supposed to go there to make it like I never existed at all. And then I thought that the room sort of came to me and I was vanishing away…’

‘But… but why?’

‘I don’t know. I mean, I have no idea if what I thought was real or where it came from, but I thought I was completely alone – that Harry died, and my parents, and everyone hated me. Please, Granger, tell me it wasn’t real…’ Suddenly, he was crying.

‘Well…’ She didn’t look at him.

‘Oh my God…’ it came out barely audible. ‘Was… was it real? Did Harry die there?’ Draco was past the point of panic – it was something he never experienced before, like there was nothing left inside of him.

‘No. He’s not dead, but…’ Hermione was still looking at her hands in her lap. ‘He’s really out of it. They’ve put him into a coma, but nobody knows what’s going to happen. He cut his hand with a broken vial, on accident, and some potion got into his blood. We don’t know what it was and what damage it did, but the guys thought you were both gone when they got you back here…’

‘I need to see him!’

‘You can’t. I’m sorry. You’re supposed to be asleep anyway – how did you wake up? They gave you two doses of sleeping potion and you only slept four hours in total…’

‘I don’t know, it doesn’t matter! I need to go see Harry!’

‘You can’t, I told you. He’s on the other side of the hospital and they’re still working on him.’

‘What are they doing?’

‘Last I checked, they were testing antidote combinations. We don’t know what that potion was, there is no sample, so the healers can’t curate an antidote for it.’

‘So they’re just filling him up to his eyeballs with whatever?!’ Draco was screaming. ‘He’s not a lab rat!’

‘Draco, please… I’m sure they know what they’re…’

‘You can’t be sure!’ He was rising up from his bed, fuelled by increasing anger. ‘God knows what that shit was – it could’ve been Voldemort’s own invention for all we know!’

‘Lay down! You can’t get out of bed!’ Hermione was standing up from her chair.

‘Just try and fucking stop me…’ Draco didn’t know where it came from, but he found himself facing Granger, pointing his wand at her. ‘I fucking dare you…’ He saw her reaching into her robes to raise her own wand, but his instinctive action was faster. ‘ _Petrificus Totalus!_ ’ he didn’t even look over his shoulder running through the door.

However long it took him to find Harry, it was too much wasted time for Draco. When he finally spotted him through an open door, he stopped dead in his tracks. The sight made his gut wrench – Harry laid on a bed, lifelessly, at least half a dozen healers hovering over him while Ron and Neville stood at the foot of the bed, their heads hung. The scene reminded Draco of a funeral. Seconds ticked away and he couldn’t move. He didn’t want to know how severe the situation was, he didn’t want to even think about the possibility that he might have lost his love for ever, let alone face it. Internally, he was screaming and crying, pleading with the universe to please just take him instead, but on the outside, he just stood there, rooted to the spot, like a Malfoy-shape statue. He vaguely registered one of the healers turning around to face the door and heard him say ‘Mr. Malfoy, what are you doing here?’, but he couldn’t respond. It was Ron shaking him by his shoulders that finally caused him to move. Everything was a blur, everything looked and sounded like it was muffled by a thick layer of wool – mechanically, without tearing his eyes away from Harry, Draco walked towards him. Up close the sight was too much for him to bear – he collapsed to his knees, resting his head on Harry’s bed, just looking at the love of his life lying there lifeless and paler than the sheets around him.

He might have been sitting there for minutes or hours or even days, he had no idea. He paid no attention to the outside world, all he focused on was Harry, and making sure he was still breathing. Once or twice a pair of hands tried to pluck him from the floor but he stiffened at the contact and they went away. Several times he felt someone pour something on the slice on his forearm, but he didn’t even register the pain. He thought he heard Weasley tell him ‘Malfoy, you can’t be here’, but he didn’t react – they didn’t know what he felt, none of them knew. So he just sat there, for however long it was, trying to silence that one, incessant voice in his head that stubbornly kept echoing ‘you lost him, he’s never coming back, you lost him _forever_ …’.

***

The coma didn’t work exactly as the healers would’ve expected – actually, it did at first, but the more time has passed, the more Harry became aware of what was going on around him. He heard the hushed voices of people in the room, he felt the cold from the open window bite him, he knew that Draco was next to him. The only thing he wasn’t able to do was to tell, or even indicate in some other way, that he was fully conscious under the appearance of sleep. So he laid there, taking in all the sounds of his hospital room, trying to shake off the last remnants of whatever potion he’s been given, to fully wake up and tell everyone he was ok. He felt weak, but luckily there was no pain, so he was more concerned about Draco than himself really.

Draco – Harry figured, that if he was in his room, next to him, he must have come out of whatever possessed him back at the Manor, but it didn’t mean that he was all fine by now. After all, nobody seemed to have any idea what actually happened, and that made Harry worried. If they didn’t know what caused this, or even why did Draco behave like he did, there was no way to fix this. And that would mean the damage could be much more severe than they would be able to see. And that black substance dripping out of the slice? That wasn’t blood, Harry knew that for sure, but what could it have been? Was it possible that Draco might die because of this?

If he was able to in his current state, Harry would cry. The thought of Draco dying terrified him more than his own prospects of death. Selfishly, Harry thought that this might be the worst possible time for that to happen – he still wasn’t fully able to convince the blonde he wasn’t lying when he told him he loved him, but there were a few moments back during the assignment that made him hope that maybe his declarations were somehow going through. After all, Draco did let him take his hand at the gate – he wouldn’t do that is he at least partially didn’t believe him.

Faintly, Harry felt the ghost of the other man’s fingers on his own, like an imprint of what they shared back at the Manor. He didn’t know how or why, but the sensation provided him with a sudden wave of strength – very meek, in fact, not even enough to open his eyes, but in his current state it was a lot. Concentrating as hard as he could, Harry raised his hand and tangled his fingers in the blond strands next to him. He felt Draco stiffen under the touch.

‘Did you see that?’ Draco’s voice was rough, almost broken.

‘What?’ Harry heard Ron.

‘His hand! I didn’t do it!’

‘Does it mean he’s…’ Neville was stuttering ‘he’s alive?’

‘He always was, Longbottom, it’s…’ whatever Draco wanted to say next was cut off by one of the healers.

‘Mr. Potter, can you hear me? Mr. Potter!’ Harry was too weak to answer. He tried to do something to indicate that he knew what was going on around him, but to no result.

‘Harry…’ Draco dropped to a whisper. Harry felt a sudden wave of warmth inside him. All he could do, however, was move his hand again. ‘He can hear us!’

‘Keep talking.’ Ron’s voice was uncharacteristically quiet.

‘Harry, I’m sorry… For… For everything. I was a complete idiot for not believing you…’ Harry was sure nobody but him could hear Draco right now, but it didn’t matter. It was their conversation to have, it was their own moment and it wasn’t meant for anyone else. ‘I thought you were saying this only because you didn’t want me to try and hurt myself again. I was sure you couldn’t love me. You and me? After all that I put you through? I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…’ Harry felt Draco shaking slightly. He knew the blonde was crying now and he knew he had to, needed, to tell him everything was fine, to protect him. And it seemed like this feeling alone was enough to finally break Harry out of his entrapment. He opened his eyes and looked at the frame next to him. Everything was blurry, but it was unmistakeably Draco sitting on the floor next to his bed, resting his head on the covers. Their eyes met and Harry managed a small smile – he still wasn’t strong enough to talk, but he hoped that it would be enough to convey what he was feeling. ‘I love you. I’m sorry for everything. Can you forgive me?’

***

It took over a week for Harry to get strong enough to hold a conversation: in fact, for the first few days after he opened his eyes, he wasn’t even able to utter a single word without blacking out again.

Draco, on the other hand, once he snapped completely out of the daze the room at the Manor put him in, wasn’t showing any signs of improvement. The gash on his arm was still open and the only reason it wasn’t bleeding was copious amounts of various potions and spells, and nobody seemed to be able to close it. Even Hermione, who showed up the same day Harry said his first full sentence (apparently the nurse found her petrified on the floor just minutes after Draco ran out), seemed at a loss of ideas on how to deal with the injury.

***

It was almost three weeks after the assignment when a breakthrough happened. On a Saturday evening Ron, Hermione and Neville marched into Draco’s and Harry’s room, with solemn expressions, carrying several large, leather-bound volumes.

‘We have good and bad news…’ Ron started.

‘We think we know what’s wrong with your arm.’ Hermione was visibly shaken. ‘There is a way to fix this, but it’s _very_ dangerous. And painful. And it needs assistance from someone else, which in your case poses a massive problem…’

‘Can you please explain this using something I’ll understand?’ Draco was trying to mask fear with impatience.

‘Well…’ Hermione hesitated. ‘We think that your injury is actually related to your Dark Mark. You see, it seems like what Voldemort put on the door was designed to somehow suck out all the positives about a person that tries to open the door. Kind of like dementors do, but instead of bringing out the worst memories and feeding off of them, it was supposed to permanently remove the good memories and good qualities of a person. It has been attempted once before, with no success, if the books are to be believed, and this is _very_ dark magic. And on top of that from what you’ve told us, it looks like even that has been tweaked by Voldemort, so I’m not sure if I’m correct, but this is the only thing that fits.’

‘Ok, but what does this have to do with the mark?’

‘That’s where the tricky part starts.’ Hermione sighed. ‘Since this is ancient dark magic, it’s based on blood. So, if everything worked as it should, you should’ve bled until all that’s left in you was your worst qualities and memories and then it should’ve closed up…’

‘Or you bleed out. To death.’ Ron muttered.

‘…BUT’ Hermione shot him a pointed look. ‘you didn’t bleed _exactly_. What the guys described was more like tar than blood, right? So my guess is the dark magic in the barrier somehow interacted with the dark magic in your mark. Voldemort should’ve probably foreseen this, but he didn’t – it wouldn’t be the first time, if we’re honest, he had a tendency to, well, ignore things. And your father was the only one who knew so Voldemort didn’t expect any of the Death Eaters trying to open that door.’

‘Not to mention none of us knew parseltongue, so we wouldn’t be able to anyway.’

‘Exactly. So I’m assuming Voldemort just used that old spell, not thinking about what happens when someone branded with dark magic comes to contact with it.’

‘So you’re saying that the more this thing stays open the worst person I become?’ Draco was terrified.

‘Not exactly. From what I understand, the memories aren’t stored in the blood exactly – it’s more related to the soul. So blood is just a ‘carrier’ for the soul to leak out of your body in this case. And since you didn’t actually bleed at all, your whole soul should still be inside, untouched. What came out was the traces of dark magic that form the dark mark. It kind of acts as a barrier.’

‘So the Dark Mark is protecting my soul right now?’

‘More or less. Ironic, isn’t it?’ Hermione smiled a little. ‘But it does pose a threat. It won’t work indefinitely, there is a limited, well, supply, of dark magic within you, so when it runs out you’ll be exposed to what should’ve happened in the first place. Once the Dark Mark is gone, you’ll start bleeding normally and that is when we have a serious problem.’

‘I can get rid of this thing? For ever?’ Draco felt a sudden wave of hope inside him.

‘Theoretically, yes. But the moment it’s gone you’re in serious danger.’

‘Do we know how to fix this though?’

‘Wizards normally don’t, but there is a chance for you if we implement Muggle technology…’ Hermione hesitated when she saw the confused expression on their faces. ‘It says in the books that the only way to reverse the damage is to replenish your blood with someone else’s. They say it’s best to use someone that loves you since this is the most positive feeling in itself and the people that love you tend to see the best in you.’

‘But there is no way to do that!’

‘There is. That’s why I said we need Muggle technology. Muggles do this thing called transfusion where they put someone else’s blood in you. Of course, it’s complicated, you need to take blood types into account…’ She hesitated. ‘And we don’t know what type of outcome this would have on wizard blood since there is also magical abilities to be considered… Plus, the physiology is different, so I’m not sure if the blood type issue still applies there… And you haven’t lost any blood…’

‘Hermione, slow down.’ Neville looked white as a sheet. ‘If he hasn’t lost any blood and he isn’t bleeding his soul out, how will someone else’s blood help?’

‘This is my main concern right now.’ Hermione shook her head. ‘If there is nothing to replenish, because there is no loss, I’m not sure what good that will do.’

‘So we need to wait until I start bleeding like a normal person?’ Draco was as pale as Neville at this point.

‘That’s one way to do it. But then again, we don’t know if transfusion would actually do anything, this is just a theory, nobody has tried it, because wizards don’t do it. And on top of that, transfusion on a wizard would be incredibly complicated in itself and we would have to find a person that loves you enough for this to even have a chance…’

‘I’ll do it.’ Harry sat up suddenly.

‘Harry, no!’ Draco looked at him horrified. ‘You can’t do this! You heard what she said, it’s dangerous!’

‘Actually, Draco, it’s not dangerous for a person giving the blood.’ Harry seemed firm.

‘How do you know that?’

‘Don’t forget, I was raised by Muggles. I know it’s not dangerous for me. If this is your only chance, I’ll do it.’

‘But you’re still hurt, you’re on a lot of potions, we don’t know if you’ll have enough blood left!’

‘Harry…’ Hermione interjected. ‘Actually, I’m not sure this is the best idea. Not for your sake, even though Draco is right, you are still weak, but…’ She looked panicked ‘you _have_ been a horcrux. I know it’s gone, but your mother’s protection is still in you and if there is even an ounce of what Voldemort did to Draco left in him, the consequences might be catastrophic. We don’t know what the interactions would be…’

‘But you said so yourself, once he starts bleeding normally, it means the dark magic is gone, right? So there would be no interaction.’

‘Well… yes, but…’

‘So then I’ll do it. There is still time for me to get stronger, because Draco is not bleeding yet.’

‘Harry…’ Draco had tears in his eyes. ‘I can’t let you do this. You’re too weak for this…’

‘I have to do this. If you’re willing to go for it and try the transfusion at all, I will give you my blood and that is final. You said it yourself, we will both survive this.’


End file.
